


Fire Front

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Boston, Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, Falling In Love, Foster Care, Found Family, Illustrations, Law Enforcement, M/M, Minor Violence, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Older Jensen Ackles, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Semi-Public Sex, Supernatural and J2 Big Bang Challenge 2019, Underground Fight Club, Young Jared Padalecki, no reposting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 00:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: Before his 18th birthday, Jensen Ackles was given a choice between prison or military service. He chose the latter and spent the next decade channeling his rage into training and multiple tours overseas. When he’s discharged, he moves to Boston, but the anger that’s plagued him since he was a teen refuses to let him settle down. Pushed to the brink, Jensen discovers the world of illegal fighting and uses it to burn the violence out of his system. Empty warehouses, rundown factories, and foreclosed clubs become the arenas where Jensen fights for money and relief.One night, after his latest challenge, he finds a young man waiting for him, offering him a prize he won’t refuse. Jensen sees so much of himself in the skinny, stubborn kid, and he’s torn between his desire to corrupt and his need to protect. Jared Padalecki is lost, working at a small diner and trying to make ends meet. He’s stuck between a home that doesn’t want him and a world filled with people who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of him. Jensen finds himself fighting to keep Jared from repeating his own mistakes while at the same time battling the rage inside him. Will it consume him before he can save Jared, or is Jensen the one in need of saving?





	Fire Front

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the 2019 SPN J2 Big Bang with accompanying art by [sweetheartdean](https://twitter.com/sweetheartdean) ♥ ♥ ♥

The blood on Jensen’s knuckles doesn’t belong to him. There’s gonna be a nasty bruise on his left cheek where the skin is beginning to sting and his ribs ache each time he draws a breath. Sweat dries on his skin, leaving patches of salt, and his hair is mussed. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins when the wrap over his knuckles comes away messy with blood and spit.

None of it matters; this is the best he’s felt all goddamn week.

The crowd is drunk, swaying on their feet and cheering him on, cruelties and profanity echoing off the crumbling cement and cinder block walls. The more violence they see, the louder they scream, and Jensen feeds on it. He looks out at the sea of faces, some twisted in rage and others in excitement, and allows their ferocity to fuel his own.

He’s ready to get on with the fight, to let the heat consume him, when his roving gaze picks out a single face in the crowd, one that watches Jensen without the mitigating haze of alcohol or madness. Youthful freshness surrounding a pair of vivid eyes that assess and covet at the same time. In that moment, Jensen knows he can’t lose. That face is his lucky charm.

The kid is back.

Jensen Ross Ackles learned how to take a punch when he was thirteen years old. It was the most useful lesson he took from any of his six foster homes.

It was possible that his foster father at the time, grey-haired and beer-bellied at 47, recognized the flash of wildfire that raged in his skinny ward’s eyes whenever someone commented on his angel face or hand-me-down outfits from his own misspent youth. That, or he could no longer ignore the bruises Jensen wore home from school. If Jensen insisted on fighting, he’d said, he might as well learn a thing or two about making the hits count.

Jensen was always quick to anger, words and sneers like a match to his propane soul. His first assault conviction came at sixteen, sitting in front of the family court judge who had presided over his last two misdemeanor hearings. She sighed and shook her head when she sentenced him to six months in juvie, as if she knew she was severing any shot Jensen had at a normal life.

The second conviction came too close to his eighteenth birthday and the judge this time, a dour-faced man who moved through cases like he was in danger of missing the early bird special, gave Jensen an ultimatum: spend the next two years in a state penitentiary or enlist in the military as soon as he turned eighteen. Doing the time didn’t sound so bad to Jensen who was young, impulsive, and ready to fight the world. He could take care of himself. It was his older foster brother from a previous home, Tahmoh, who begged him to reconsider. He was nearly finished with his associate’s degree with sights set on becoming a police officer, and knew the military would provide training, structure, room and board. More than that, Tahmoh insisted, it might give Jensen a purpose.

The bruises on Jensen’s face were yellowed and his ribs had barely healed when he filled out his recruitment papers.

Ten years, four postings, two tours, and one bullet wound later, Jensen’s commitment to the United States Armed Forces was up. With no one telling him what to do or where to go for the first time in over a decade, Jensen made his way up to Boston where Tahmoh was living and working as a cop. Out of Jensen’s five foster siblings from his last home, he was the only one who kept in touch while Jensen took his government-sponsored tour of the world’s hot-zones, and it was Tahmoh’s name on Jensen’s records in the event he never made it back stateside.

Two suitcases were all Jensen carried with him when he moved into his foster brother’s spare room a few weeks shy of his twenty-ninth birthday, and for a short time, life felt like less of a burden.

Tahmoh didn’t let him stew or grow restless. Without a job lined up, Jensen worked on a seemingly endless list of projects around Tahmoh’s house. The neighborhood wasn’t too bad and the house had come cheap, but it needed work to even be deemed a fixer-upper. That ‘training’ from the military turned out to be good for something—Jensen replaced old wiring, upgraded plumbing, patched the roof. Impressed, Tahmoh put him in touch with a contractor who used to be a Boston P.D. detective and, ten months after Jensen was discharged, he had a semi-stable spot on the guy’s work crew, spending his days painting, finishing drywall, and installing fixtures.

He had a place to live, a brother who looked after him, and a paycheck that covered what little Jensen needed to survive. Still, the rage found a way to seep through the cracks.

It festered. Started as an itch beneath his skin and grew until it was a constant pressure in his chest. Jensen knew he had to let it out somehow; he couldn’t explode and risk destroying everything Tahmoh helped him build. In juvie, he would have picked a fight, taken a few hits before letting the anger burn through him until the fuel was gone. Overseas, there was always a mission, an objective, a target.

Tahmoh saw the fire in his eyes when it rose too close to the surface and, the next day, the newly promoted junior detective introduced Jensen to his friend Aleks Paunovic. The gym that Aleks owned was well known in amateur fight circles, offered training in boxing and mixed martial arts. Tahmoh visited to spar and sharpen his skills, but Jensen found himself going at least three times a week, sometimes for hours. He met men and women with stories like his—some better, some messier—but none seemed to burn the way Jensen did. They were sparks; they fought for fitness, for practice, for stress relief. They were safe.

Jensen had been using Aleks’ gym for a few months when he first heard the rumors about underground fights being held around the city. High stakes, few rules, plenty of challengers. 

He asked Tahmoh about them a week later. Tahmoh wasn’t pleased with the idea, and whether he saw the same wildfire overtake the green in Jensen’s eyes as his foster father or knew that there was no use talking him out of it, Tahmoh filled Jensen in on what he knew about the operation, the information cobbled together from various B.P.D. investigations.

It took Jensen another two months to attend his first fight. As soon as he stepped into the warehouse and saw the makeshift ring with two men grappling to thunderous shouting, a calm settled over his shoulders, something he hadn’t felt since his last op overseas. With the serenity came focus, and he knew he was in the right place. All he needed was one shot to prove himself and, when it came, Jensen heard the roar of the flames in his head as he laid his opponent out. He fought until his rage turned to ash and walked away with $300.

A month later, a text from an anonymous number invited him to his second fight. Though Tahmoh frowned when Jensen said he was going back, he didn’t attempt to stop him. He let Jensen walk out the door with a promise to be careful and to always come home afterwards.

Each successive win filled Jensen’s pockets with folded bills and built his reputation. Even his losses, few and far between, got people talking.

Jensen Ackles didn’t go down easy.

He worked, disguised his bruises as much as he could, and kept up with the repairs on Tahmoh’s house. He fucked when he felt like it—a different kind of itch that needed to be scratched. Men whose names he forgot as soon as he closed the door behind him. He lived a life that appeared normal and let strangers assume that it was his time overseas that left him a little less than whole, when in truth, Jensen figured he’d been incomplete from the moment he took his first breath.

Each month, Jensen received the same simple text with a time and location. He’d leave the house, ducking Tahmoh’s frustrated look, and drive towards the only thing that gave him peace of mind.

Because Jensen was always in the mood for a fight, and it was better to let the fire rage in a place like that than burn anyone who tried to contain it.

The kid hasn’t taken his eyes off of Jensen. From the moment Jensen stepped into the makeshift octagon tonight, the intensity of that stare has followed him, a prickle across the back of his shoulders.

Jensen’s current opponent, a pumped-up frat boy whose bros are whooping from within the crowd, strikes out with a quick jab that glances Jensen’s jaw, leading to claps and cheers from his fellow co-eds. Jensen’s grin is a sharp and vicious thing as he lets the guy have his moment, lets him feel good about his chances. He enjoys putting the cocky ones down.

The rage is there, heat running through Jensen’s veins. He doesn’t tap into it yet, allows the fight to build and draws the crowd into the action; the more they bet, the more Jensen walks away with. As Jensen circles his challenger, he spots Tom Ellis slithering along the edge of the crowd, satisfaction sharpening his handsome face.

This entire thing is Ellis’ show. As far as Jensen has seen, he’s the one with the shady connections that lead to venues like this dank basement below a seedy bar. Ellis also arranges the fights, deciding who to pit against whom for the most action. He’s always there to take his cut; based on what Jensen makes now after each fight, Ellis rakes in tens of thousands of dollars every time.

There’s a moment when Ellis’ steps bring him too close to the kid as he makes his way around the room, his dark gaze assessing everyone for a potential value. An icy chill steals over Jensen’s skin for a split-second before it disappears and Ellis keeps walking without taking note of the silent, skinny-hipped kid whose eyes are fixed on Jensen’s torso.

Jensen’s rage is simmering now and he’s waited long enough. The frat boy is light on his feet, brimming with false bravado and telegraphing every move, and Jensen is ruthless on the attack. He barely feels his hits landing: left side, right side, under his ribs, the corner of his jaw. His opponent doubles over and Jensen topples him onto the mat, whip-fast and unrelenting. They grapple and roll, but the guy never regains the upper hand; Jensen’s too skilled to let that happen.

He puts on a good show, which ought to make Ellis happy, causing the crowd to think he’s losing ground and driving those last minute bets. When it’s over and the guy’s tapping out on the mat, Jensen looks up and sees the kid watching, gaze wild and unfocused as he cheers along with the majority of the crowd. Jensen loses track of him in the post-fight commotion as he’s rushed out of the ring so it can be reset for the next bout and finds himself being steered towards Ellis, who’s waiting with a shark’s smile and clasped hands. Behind them, Jensen hears a medley of groans and curses as the frat boy’s buddies help him stagger out of the ring. Ellis only provides so much—cash compensation for the losers ensuring that there will always be those desperate or stupid enough to compete—and calling an ambulance here is out of the question.

“Well done, my boy. Well done!” His English accent is smooth, elegant, another detail that separates him from the rough and tumble crowd and the bruised entertainment. “That may have been your best one yet. Now go on, clean yourself up and mingle, or whatever it is you do with all that leftover adrenaline.”

Ellis winks, dismissive of Jensen’s scowl. With a snap, one of the stocky handlers flanking him hands Jensen a noticeably thick envelope.

“Don’t spend it all in one place. Or all on one person…” Ellis adds with amusement as he turns and walks towards more important business.

Jensen watches him go, tailed by his hired muscle—no doubt former fighters themselves—before making his way out of the crowd, their attention shifting to the next fight. He checks the envelope and counts out $1000 before he slips into the back hallway where he nearly collides with a familiar face.

“Ackles! Heard the noise, man. Sounds like you were having some fun.”

Stephen Amell has been competing in Ellis’ fight nights longer than Jensen; he’s got top billing whenever he shows up. The two of them aren’t friendly—that kind of thing isn’t encouraged around here. He’s seen Amell fight a few times now, enough to know that he’s received serious training somewhere. Though his height and build are similar to Jensen’s, Amell is skilled and precise like he could have gone pro. Jensen has all that stored away in the back of his mind because he never knows who might end up in the ring with him one day.

Jensen nods. “I got the job done.”

“Nice. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” There’s a gleam in his Amell’s eyes that’s easy to recognize. Jensen’s seen it in his opponents, in the crowd, once or twice in the mirror. But where Jensen fights for release, to feel something close to _normal_ , Amell thirsts for violence and he’s eager to inflict harm.

“Give ‘em hell man.” He sends Amell on his way with a forced smile, but he’s already in his pre-fight zone and doesn’t notice.

Finally alone, Jensen moves towards the bare room he’s claimed for the night. Now that the anger has flamed out, he feels the emptiness. There’s too much space in his mind; his thoughts are too far apart to connect in ways that make sense, so different from the hyper-focus he displays when he’s in the ring. Could be why he misses the door opening behind him as the kid slips into the room, alerting Jensen to his sudden appearance with a quiet gasp.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” Jensen tells him, toweling off his chest and watching the kid’s eyes track each pass. “If someone caught you sneaking around—”

“I’m good at not being noticed.” The kid’s voice wavers slightly. “I saw your fight.”

“I know.” Jensen grabs a bottle of water and drains it, giving the kid a chance to look his fill. Between the bruises—fresh or yellowed with age—scrapes from his latest jobsite, and the scars, it can’t be a pretty picture, though Jensen’s been told his face isn’t half bad.

Jensen was never good with ages even before his second concussion, but he knows the kid can’t be older than twenty-one, not with that lean frame and underdeveloped muscle tone. He’s way too pretty with a delicate nose and those sweet little moles, long fingers and skinny wrists. Too innocent to be hanging around this kind of crowd and seeing what Jensen is capable of when he’s out of control.

Minutes tick by before Jensen sighs. “Look, kid—”

A frustrated huff. “I told you, my name’s Jared.”

Jensen hasn’t forgotten; that night was forever etched into his memory. It was the first time Jared offered to go down on Jensen—not a detail he’d let slip away. High on endorphins, his opponent barely conscious on the other side of the ring, Jensen was retreating to his makeshift locker room when the kid slipped out of the shadows and brushed against him. He’d followed Jensen and knelt at his feet on the cracked tile, hazel eyes turned up and pleading for Jensen to give him something. 

Jensen wanted to resist—for all he knew, the kid could have been sixteen—but he’d developed his own obsession in the two months since he’d first caught those shifting eyes watching him fight. That night, Jensen caved and allowed that pretty face to ease some of his emptiness.

With Jensen’s fingers in his hair and Jensen’s cock touching his bottom lip, the kid had whispered his name seconds before wrapping his mouth around the head.

“You should go,” Jensen says now, even though he’s been thinking about that mouth every night since the last time: the pressure of those lips, the way the kid reacted to each new touch.

“You were awesome tonight.” Jared ignores the tormented expression on Jensen’s face. “Letting that asshole think he had a chance before kicking his ass.”

The distance between them continues to shrink, nowhere for Jensen to hide in the small room. His urge to flee is outweighed by his desire to stay and let Jared’s seduction play out. He doesn’t want to be the better man, doesn’t want to resist; he wants to feel whole again the way he did a month ago after Jared made him come.

Jensen’s no saint, but he also can’t risk anyone finding Jared back here. Unregulated fights aren’t the only shady things that happen under Ellis’ watch, and Jensen won’t let the kid get caught up in something truly dangerous.

“Don’t you have a curfew?” Jensen asks, turning to reach for a clean henley from his duffel. “Homework or something?”

Determined fingers around his wrist hinder Jensen’s attempt to redress. “How old do you think I am?”

“I was trying not to think about it.”

Jared smiles, revealing his dimples for the first time, and takes the ammunition he’s just been handed. “When were you trying not to think about it? When you were in my mouth or when I let you come on my lips?”

“Fuck, kid…”

“Did you think about that, too?”

For an amateur, Jared’s attack borders on lethal. With just a few words, he’s got Jensen against the ropes.

“You really should get out of here,” Jensen forces himself to say, pulling the shirt over his head to put another layer between them. “I don’t want—”

“You didn’t like it…” Jared’s voice shakes, gaze dropping to the stained floor. 

Jensen could end this here and now. Let the kid walk out of this room crushed because Jensen found him wanting, when nothing could be further from the truth.

“I’d never done that before,” he’s muttering, confidence deflated by Jensen’s silence. “I’ll get better, I promise.”

“Was that what I was? Practice?” That doesn’t sound right to Jensen’s ears. Jealousy rekindles some of the fire in his chest, and he fists one hand in Jared’s t-shirt and hauls him close, feels that narrow chest expand with a sharp inhale. “If I tell you to go, you gonna find someone else to practice on? Get on your knees for the next guy with bruised knuckles and no fucking sense?”

The kid trembles in his grip, hides his face, but Jensen has to know. “Would you?”

Jared’s response comes as barely more than a whisper. “No, ‘cause none of them would be you.”

The words are a one-two punch straight to the chest. Why the hell would he choose Jensen over anyone else? He’s nothing special outside of the ring, just a guy trying to remain sane though the odds have been stacked against him from the beginning.

Confused, Jensen has no recourse but to obliterate the gap between them and kiss Jared for the first time. He’d dirtied Jared’s pink lips with his come, yet he’d neglected to kiss him that night, blindsided by his own response to the kid’s desire. Jensen makes amends now, and for pushing the kid with harsh words, possession tempered by an instinct to protect. It’s not chaste; Jensen’s tongue begs those lips to open almost immediately, sweeping inside to meet Jared’s. He demands and encourages in equal measures, further aroused by Jared’s curiosity paired with the soft, hesitant way his hands slide across Jensen’s back and meet in the middle.

Jared is hard, rutting against Jensen with a lack of finesse that makes their kiss taste even sweeter. Jensen feels the shape of him through layers of clothing, surprisingly impressive despite the kid’s narrow frame; he’s clearly got some room to grow into those long, slender limbs. Those hips begin to stutter, making Jensen desperate to get his hands on Jared for real. He breaks the kiss, dragging his mouth along Jared’s jaw and down his neck. No salty sweat, just sugar-pale skin under his tongue.

“This alright?” His hands are at Jared’s waist, toying with the button on his jeans. The only response this elicits from Jared’s lips is the repetition of his name mixed with desperate little pants. Not an explicit yes, but the message is clear.

The button hole is loose, easily undone, and the drag of the zipper is rough and halted, typical of second-hand clothes. Jensen pushes that knowledge to the side, solely concerned with the eager body in his arms. Jared’s cock is primed, straining against the heat of Jensen’s scarred right hand when he pushes faded boxers out of the way. It suits him, long and growing, smooth and pink, sliding across Jensen’s palm as he rocks into the grasp, wordless cries buried in the crook of Jensen’s neck. Each sound reveals long buried instincts to own, to cherish, and to protect, adding to the volatile cocktail of hormones and emotions already in Jensen’s blood.

Picking Jared up feels effortless; pinning him to the cracked, dusty wall feels natural. His body fits well against Jensen’s, curves and hollows matched up. Jensen’s dick is throbbing where it’s trapped in the black shorts he’s wearing, his own need secondary.

They hit a particularly devastating angle and Jared cries out, the sound immediately muffled by Jensen’s mouth.

“Shhhh,” he urges, “don’t want anyone walking in on us.”

There’s no time to really blow the kid’s mind; they need to get out of here before someone notices that Jensen never emerged from the back. Jared’s grinding on him, biting Jensen’s bottom lip each time he attempts to pull away from the kiss to give Jared space to breathe. With the wall supporting Jared’s back, Jensen works his hand between them, stroking Jared’s cock in time with the frantic pace set by his hips and guiding him towards orgasm. There’s enough precome to make the friction bearable, not dry, though Jensen doubts Jared notices the discomfort given his mindless thrusts.

They’re kissing when Jared comes, an experience Jensen’s never known before tonight. He can feel the kid shake, his rhythm broken as his semen coats Jensen’s fingers. That’s overshadowed by the slow, trusting flick of Jared’s tongue against Jensen’s and the way his mouth is loose and giving post-orgasm.

Jensen is hard and desperate now, legs heavy with exertion, and nearly overstimulated between the squeeze of Jared’s legs around his waist, the taste and the smell of sex coming off both of them, and Jared’s weak thrusts. The kid is too sensitive to do more than that, yet he’s chasing every last possible sensation.

“Jared, I need—” He can’t finish the thought before he’s setting Jared down on wobbly legs, tearing his shorts open and fisting his dick, flushed and angry at being denied anything but inadequate friction up until now.

He’ll be lucky if he lasts a minute with Jared watching him bring himself off. That estimate is shattered when Jared drops intentionally to his knees, raising his hands to Jensen’s thighs and massaging the thick quadricep muscles, hot and burning both from his time in the ring and holding Jared against the wall. The visual is stunningly obscene: Jared’s pants undone, cock soft on his thigh, its creamy peach skin spotted with his own come.

Jensen jacks himself faster, Jared’s semen creating a rough, sticky stroke, but he’s beyond caring. His left hand curls instinctively around the back of Jared’s head, strands of hair catching between his fingers. Jared hisses—not in pain, far from it—and Jensen lets go, his come streaking from Jared’s mouth down to the base of his throat. Jared’s tongue sweeps the mess straight off his lips, and Jensen’s cock gives one final pulse.

Jensen pulls Jared up as if he’s weightless and kisses the rest from his chin. They’re granted one strange moment of quiet, suspended between release and reality when Jensen is able to look at Jared and see more than just a kid with an obsession, before shouting in the hallway splits them apart.

The sound shocks Jensen into action even as Jared remains hazy. It feels lousy to wipe both of them perfunctorily with a used towel, though he keeps it gentle when he helps Jared clean up and refasten his pants, drawing his fingers down a smooth cheek before stepping back to a safe distance and trading his shorts for jeans.

“How’d you get here?” Jensen’s calculating how he’ll get the kid where he needs to go without tipping off the wrong people. Watching the fight is one thing; someone catching them back here together could cause all sorts of problems.

Jared surprises him with a little scowl of annoyance that Jensen finds amusing. “I drove. My car’s a couple blocks away.”

“I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to. Not my first time at one of these, remember?”

“C’mon, kid. I just—I want…”

“Okay, Jensen.” Jared saves him from having to justify his sudden need to be the kid’s shadow.

“There’s a door at the end of the hallway. Slip out and meet me around back. I’ll follow in a couple of minutes.”

Even letting Jared out of his sight for that long is too much. He needs to snap out of it; he shouldn’t have this kind of reaction after a couple of orgasms with someone he barely knows. Anything else—including the kiss that brought a beam of light into Jensen’s darkness—has to be his imagination tripping on a post-fight high.

They’re quiet on the way to Jared’s car. Jensen slips into patrol-mode, aware of every blind corner and sound he’s unable to place. Beside him, Jared’s somewhere in his own thoughts, one corner of his mouth turned up giving Jensen another peak at that dimple.

“Can I see your phone?” Jared holds out his hand when they arrive at his car, which turns out to be an older model pickup truck, scratched and dinged, with bags and books stacked on the passenger seat. Craning his head, Jensen sees styrofoam takeout containers and napkins in the footwell. Whoever this kid really is, he spends a lot of time in his truck.

Jensen hands it over and watches Jared tap the screen until he’s satisfied. Seconds later, there’s a chime from the kid’s back pocket.

“Now I have your number,” Jared says as he returns the phone. 

“This isn’t a good idea.” Jensen sounds half-hearted to his own ears. As much as it guts him, he adds, “You shouldn’t come to any more of these things.”

Jared hunches his shoulders, hands tucked in his pockets, looking smaller than he is when he meets Jensen’s eyes through long brown lashes. “Is that what you want?”

Damn kid probably knows Jensen can’t give him a straight answer, not after what happened tonight and a few weeks ago. “I don’t want you mixed up in any of this.”

“I’m not. I just like watching you fight.”

Jensen circles back to the same question. “Why?”

The kid shrugs. It’s fascinating that he can be this shy after going to his knees twice. “Just go home, Jared,” he directs softly, darkness pressing in from all sides. Jensen needs to be alone in his own space, needs to think without the weight of that wide-eyed stare pushing him in an ill-advised direction.

He’d like to stay and kiss Jared. Back him against the side of his rust-spotted truck and render him senseless. He’d like to be in control of the situation instead of following cues like an obedient pet. But it’s his own common sense that forces Jensen to walk away, long strides taking him to the corner where he watches Jared slump further before he finally climbs inside the truck. Jensen stays put until Jared pulls away down the street, out of sight, before he turns in the direction of his own car.

The house is dark and empty when Jensen pulls up. For once, he’s grateful that Tahmoh’s schedule is erratic; as one of the squad’s greenest detectives, he’s almost always on-call.

The house has come a long way since Jensen moved in, taking one project at a time, and he’s proud of their space, the home they’ve created. For two men who grew up with little of their own, shuffled around by a society that didn’t know what else to do with them, this place feels like an accomplishment. Especially when Jensen considers the other paths he might have taken, one of which led directly to a prison cell.

He grabs a beer from the kitchen, sees Tahmoh’s dinner plate in the sink, and realizes he must have left in a hurry, no doubt called to a fresh crime scene. 

The decor isn't much, best described as bachelor-cheap: things chosen for comfort and cost over style. A pair of couches that they found on clearance at a big-box store, a coffee table they bought off Craigslist. Lamps, bookcases, and end tables they picked up from yard sales around the wealthier Boston suburbs. The one thing Jensen splurged on was his bed. He’d saved for months to finally afford a firm, king-size mattress and the cheapest possible frame, though it was worth the sacrifice of many lunches and nights out drinking with his work crew, plus six months spent sleeping on a futon.

Jensen’s bedroom itself is more than he’s ever had, the peak of luxury for a guy with his history. Between state homes, foster homes, juvie, and military barracks, having his own space was something he’d only dreamed about. He’s protective of it, as well, and doesn’t even bring his one-night stands here, preferring to follow his dates home and sneak out before sunrise.

He drops his bag and jumps in the shower where the hot water soothes the aches in his muscles and washes Jared off his skin. The memory of Jared in his arms against the wall, so vivid, resurfaces as he’s running soapy hands over his cock and balls. Jensen almost gets hard, but while his mind is willing, he’s tired and sated from his victory in the ring and the precious spoils that came after.

His phone chimes as he’s drying himself off, and he wonders if it’s Tahmoh letting him know he won’t make it home tonight.

It isn’t.

The message is from a recently added number.

**I turned 20 this week. Thought you’d want to know.**

Jensen’s rereading it for the fourth time, heart in his stomach, when another message pops up.

**You were my birthday present.**

He’s relieved and devastated all at once. Relieved because Jared isn’t sixteen and Jensen doesn’t need to turn himself in to his best friend; devastated because Jared’s too lean, too hollow for being fresh out of his teens. It’s a red flag, but Jensen is nothing if not bull-headed.

He shouldn’t respond, even sets his phone on the nightstand and walks away to find a pair of shorts to sleep in, only to circle back five minutes later. He taps out several different messages ranging from desperate to dismissive before deleting all of them and starting over, sending back three words.

**Happy Birthday, kid.**

“I think we’ve earned this.” Tahmoh holds the cold bottle of beer out for Jensen to take before sitting beside him on the back steps and sipping from his own bottle.

Jensen’s days off coincided with Tahmoh’s for the first time in three weeks and they took advantage of the time to finish cleaning out their small, square backyard and lay new pavers to make their patio larger than a postage stamp. They stare at their accomplishment while they drink, ignoring the pile of yard debris that eventually needs to be moved to the front curb for pickup.

“You had another fight a few days ago, didn’t you?” Tahmoh asks as he pulls a second beer for each of them from the six pack on the step behind them. He’s looking at the mottled remains of the bruise on Jensen’s jaw. “How’d it go?”

He’s really asking _are you okay?_ and _did it help?_

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Jen—”

“You don’t want details, remember?”

“I know.” Tahmoh holds up a placating hand. “Better I don’t know just how illegal it is.”

“You know I’m only there for the fights, nothing else,” Jensen says. “Hell, you’re the one who pointed me in the right direction.”

“Guess I figured you’d stop going eventually.”

Jensen’s thought about stopping, usually after conversations like this, but it’s easy to dismiss. He needs an outlet for when the pressure becomes too much to handle. It’s better he erupts in the ring than out here.

“Maybe,” he says, because it’s all he can offer.

“We should hit the gym together. Aleks has been hounding me to come in for a workout. I know you’ve cut back on going recently, but it could be fun with the three of us.”

“Might be good.” He means it, too. As imperative as the fights have become, they’ll eventually take a toll. If the tightness around Tahmoh’s mouth is any clue, they already have. “Next time you’ve got an afternoon off, alright? We’ll go after I get done with work.”

Tahmoh grins and tips his bottle to Jensen’s offer. They sit in contented silence for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of their neighborhood and enjoying the chance to relax, until Tahmoh casually asks, “Anything else going on with you?”

He’s asking about everyday things: how work is treating Jensen, if he’s planning any additional projects for the house, if he’s interested in anyone. There’s a part of him that wants to tell Tahmoh about Jared, about all the complicated things the kid makes him feel, but he has no idea where to begin. Does he tell Tahmoh how they met, or how Jared offered himself like a prize? Does he admit that the kid is rarely far from his thoughts these days?

“Same old, same old,” he says. It’s a cop-out; he doesn't know how to make Tahmoh understand. “How about we haul this crap out front then finish these beers?”

“I’ve got beef for burgers.” Tahmoh accepts the abrupt change of subject. “We can pull out the grill and enjoy finally being able to have two chairs out here!”

Later that night, after splitting burgers and another six-pack, Tahmoh heads to bed while Jensen lingers on the patio alone with his thoughts. Staring out at their dimly-lit patch of fenced-in grass, two skinny birch trees marking the far corners, Jensen wonders if he should have opened up to his best friend, the man he considers his brother. 

They took different paths through the foster system, equally rough, coming together in a home when Jensen was twelve and Tahmoh was in high school. Even after Tahmoh graduated and aged out of the system, he kept tabs on Jensen, showing up to his court hearings or visiting juvie when he could get away from work and school. In all these years, he’s never turned his back on Jensen, never let him down.

If Jensen told Tahmoh about Jared, maybe he would know what to do.

As further proof that the universe has a shitty sense of timing, Jensen’s phone dings in his pocket.

The kid is persistent. It’s been a week since Jensen’s last fight, and Jared texts several times a night. The messages range from asking if Jensen is awake to rambling threads where he describes what it was like to watch Jensen prowl around the ring. Jensen rereads those before he falls asleep, darkness cutting him off from the rest of the world, and ends up dreaming about meeting Jared under normal circumstances. When he wakes up, he has a tough time recalling what normal looked like.

When Jensen first laid eyes on Jared a few months ago, he’d dismissed him as another rich kid with an early gambling addiction burning through his parents’ cash. Ellis could spot a trust-fund misfit from a mile away, quick to sink his claws in and bleed them dry. But the boss never noticed the kid slinking around the edge of the ring and that’s when Jensen took a second look and noticed the rough, ill-fitting clothes. The kid ducked away from most eye contact and never said more than two words to anyone. Jensen was the exception. Their eyes met and the kid didn’t look away. That hungry stare haunted Jensen in the weeks leading up to the next fight.

The more Jensen watched the kid, before and after his turn in the ring, the more he realized that his first impression was wrong; the kid didn’t fit in that dark, dirty, underground club with people who came to exorcise their demons and those who thirsted for violence.

Given all that Jensen has learned since, Jared doesn’t belong anywhere near Ellis’ operation.

He wants Jared to stay away—there are monsters more dangerous than Jensen lurking around those fights—but he’s also selfishly chasing what it felt like to be with him. He’s only touched Jared twice, but it sparked an addiction.

This is where Jensen could use Tahmoh’s advice, because he flips between not wanting to text Jared back, hoping the kid will stop showing up if he cuts ties, and doing something insanely stupid like inviting him to dinner at the house. He’s playing the middle right now, responding sporadically to Jared’s texts and staying away from anything too personal. Jared isn’t abiding by the same rules; Jensen tells himself that he’s doing what he can.

And then things start going to shit.

He gets off work in the middle of the week and discovers a fresh scrape on his car door followed up by some asshole in a mega SUV cutting in front of him and nearly sending him off the road. A few days later, the wrong materials end up at the jobsite and the livid homeowner curses out Jensen and the rest of the crew while their boss isn’t around to handle the mistake.

Jensen isn’t conscious of the anger building until he’s back at their house, seconds away from putting his fist through the drywall because he was supposed to pick up dinner tonight and he completely spaced.

Familiar with the signs, Tahmoh calms him without being patronizing, ordering two platters from their favorite gyro place while Jensen waits for the heat to subside. Hours later, there’s a low, lingering burn beneath his skin and, without Tahmoh right there to stop him, he pulls out his phone and brings up his contacts.

It rings once before a soft voice answers. “ _Jensen?_ ”

“You sound surprised.”

“ _I didn’t expect you to call_ ,” Jared says. “ _It’s kind of old-fashioned_.”

Jensen groans. He figured this was a bad idea. “I’m hanging up.”

“ _Wait! I wasn’t making fun of you, I promise_.”

A few seconds of hearing the kid’s voice has Jensen breathing easier as the pressure in his chest begins to subside.

“ _Did you want something?_ ” Jared asks hesitantly.

“This a bad time?”

“ _No, I just got home from work._ ” There’s a pause before Jensen hears, “ _Are you okay?_ ”

He sighs and takes a seat on his bed. “I don’t know, kid. Just talk to me. Tell me something—anything. Tell me about work.”

He’s afraid Jared will dig into the reason behind the call, figure out what’s got Jensen so rattled. Instead, all Jensen hears is the faint rustle of fabric and the _creak-click_ of a door being closed before that warm tone is back in his ear.

“ _You want to hear about my job...seriously?_ ” Jensen likes the hint of attitude in Jared’s voice, reminds him of the spark he saw in the kid’s eyes. “ _It’s nothing special, just a diner over in Dorchester_.”

Jensen’s heart skips a beat; he and Tahmoh live in Dorchester. 

The kid must not hear the catch in his breath, because he keeps talking. “ _I usually work mornings, but I picked up an extra shift tonight. Trying to save up some money, you know? Maybe start taking classes in the fall. But I hate working nights. There’s so much more to clean and people aren’t as nice. I still get to bring food home, which helps…_ ”

Once Jared gets rolling, the words don’t stop. Jensen does his best to listen to everything, though he loses words more than once for being too focused on the voice itself. Its texture calls out to the part of Jensen’s brain that craves tranquility over rage, soft curves over brittle edges. It’s similar to what Jensen felt after his fight only safer. There’s no volatile combination of lust and adrenaline clouding his senses. He can only lie back and let Jared’s voice wash over him. The entire experience is soothing in a way Jensen’s never known before.

“ _I mean, I hope you’re still there and haven’t, like, fallen asleep on me…_ ” Jared trails off into an audible yawn and Jensen realizes it’s much later than he thought.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“ _It’s okay. I’m not that tired._ ”

“Bullshit,” Jensen says at the same time Jared proves his point with another yawn.

“ _Fine, but only ‘cause I’m exhausted and I’ve gotta work in the morning_.”

“Get some sleep, kid. Sorry for keeping you up.”

“ _Don’t apologize_ ,” Jared rushes to say. “ _This was probably the longest conversation I’ve ever had on the phone. I’m glad you called. Talk to you later?_ ”

Jensen doesn’t stop to consider the consequences of his answer. “Sure. Soon, alright?”

“ _Yeah, okay_.” Jared’s voice is pleased, a sleepy drawl. “ _Night, Jensen_.”

After the line goes dead, Jensen drops his phone and stares up at the ceiling. He drifts on the edge of sleep for a while, the irritation reduced to an annoyance that’s buried behind thoughts of Jared. He’s too tired to consider the trouble he’s gotten himself into or how tough it’s going to be to push the kid away after this.

Not five minutes after he hangs up, his phone chimes, its screen filling the room with dim blue light.

**Back Bay Diner. Coffee sucks but the omelettes are good.**

As darkness pulls him under, Jensen wonders if he’s got the strength to stay away from Jared at all.

Jensen doesn’t visit the diner the next day or the one after. He drives by on his way home from work one afternoon in the middle of the week to take in the aging building, badly in need of a fresh coat of paint, and the red and white lettered sign. The Back Bay Diner’s parking lot is full and he can see a decent crowd through the front windows. The place has always struck Jensen as one of those neighborhood staples where everyone knows the menu by heart and little ever changes. Jensen’s eaten dinner there a few times with Tahmoh—he remembers clean tables and decent food—but he’d never seen the kid there. A face like Jared’s would have stood out.

He resists the diner’s temptation for five days until Tahmoh zombie-walks into the kitchen at six a.m. after being on shift for nineteen hours and declares a craving for French toast and bacon.

“No bacon,” Jensen grumbles, standing in front of their coffee maker, “but I can make pancakes.”

Tahmoh shakes his head. His eyes are bleary and his complexion is slightly gray. “Nope. I need a sweet and greasy breakfast and you’re coming with me. My treat.”

Hard to argue with that. Since he doesn’t need to be at work until eight, Jensen grabs his jacket and his keys. He doesn’t think about the direction in which he’s driving until he’s pulling into the Back Bay’s lot and listening to Tahmoh say, “I’ve never come here for breakfast before,” as he gets out of the car.

The place is busy, but they take two empty seats at the L-shaped counter. A pretty redhead brings them their drinks—more coffee for Jensen, water for the overworked detective—and leaves them with a couple of menus. There’s no sign of the kid yet. He might not be working and Jensen doesn’t want to ask any of the servers, not sure how that would go over. They’re here for Tahmoh’s carb fix, that’s all.

The waitress circles back to them a few minutes later. “What’s it gonna be?” she asks with an accent that’s as far from Boston as it gets.

“French toast with strawberries and two sides of bacon,” Tahmoh says before Jensen can open his mouth.

“Whipped cream and powdered sugar?”

“Absolutely.”

She turns to Jensen. “What about you?”

“I heard the omelettes were good.”

She smiles. “They’re huge, too. I get the Fully Loaded Veggie and take half home.”

Jensen closes his menu and hands it over. “Sold.”

“My name’s Danni, if you guys need anything else,” she says with a wink and spins away. If she was flirting, Jensen missed it, too preoccupied trying to catch a glimpse of brown hair and dimples, and Tahmoh is probably too exhausted to respond.

The vibe inside the diner is homey—vintage photos of Boston on the walls between windows, cheerfully colored menus, and lots of light—and Danni appears genuinely friendly. Jensen pictures Jared taking breaks at one of the booths and getting lost in a book. The idea puts a smile on Jensen’s face.

“Hey, Danni? Where are these waffles going?”

Jared’s voice is clear as day over the diner noise. Jensen lifts his head and sees the kid behind the counter, the kitchen door swinging shut at his back, holding two plates of Belgian waffles topped with fruit and whipped cream.

“Table six, sugar. Can you bring more syrup to table eight after you drop those off?”

Focused on his job, the kid doesn’t notice Jensen staring as he hustles from table to table, dropping food and collecting empty plates. From the stains on his apron, he’s been doing some of the cooking, too. He looks alright, full of energy with flushed cheeks and bare forearms.

Jared eventually winds his way back towards the kitchen, his gaze disinterestedly passing over each customer at the counter until it hits Jensen.

He freezes. “Jensen?”

“Hey, kid.”

“You came.” He sounds breathless, surprised by Jensen’s sudden appearance in his everyday life.

“You recommended the food. You were right about the coffee, by the way,” Jensen adds, lifting his mug. “It’s awful.”

Jared’s mouth drops open, a perfect ‘O’ that Jensen tries and fails to avoid staring at. “Oh,” he says, snapping out of his daze, “I can fix that for you.” With that, he grabs Jensen’s mug and disappears into the kitchen, the entire exchange going down so quickly, Jensen wonders if he was daydreaming.

Tahmoh turns in his seat and nudges Jensen with his elbow. “I’m guessing we’re not here ‘cause you like the food.”

Jensen ducks his brother’s stare. “I might.”

“Bullshit.” The yawn that punctuates Tahmoh’s curse ruins its severity. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to give you the third degree.”

Jared returns holding Jensen’s mug, which he sets on the counter with a hesitant smile. Jensen takes a careful sip while two pairs of eyes watch him, one eager and one curious.

“Damn, that’s good.”

“Misha—he’s the cook—brings his own ground coffee and lets me have some. I guess it’s too expensive to serve all the time.”

Warmth seeps into his senses as Jensen gazes at Jared over the rim of his mug. Hovering on the other side of the counter, Jared looks like he’s trying to decide what to say next when Danni steps up behind him.

“Back to work, sugar. Stop flirting with my customers.”

Jared startles and shifts out of her way, blushing like a fresh peach, as she sets two full plates in front of Jensen and Tahmoh. Sneaking a last glance over his shoulder, Jared ducks into the kitchen. Jensen ignores the deliberately neutral expression on his brother’s face in favor of digging into the massive folded omelette topped with avocado slices and chopped tomatoes.

The kid was right, the omelette is pretty damn good but it would taste a lot better if Jared was still there to keep the edge off. Next to him, enthusiastically devouring his powdered-sugar-covered French toast and crispy, fragrant bacon, Tahmoh looks like he’s in heaven.

Jared doesn’t return from the kitchen until they’re settling up with Danni and leaving cash tips on the counter. Tahmoh, halfway into a food coma, takes one look at Jensen before he sighs and swipes Jensen’s keys off the counter. 

“I’ll meet you in the car.”

The counter between them prevents Jensen from reaching out. From here, he can look and appreciate the tight fit of Jared’s dark t-shirt, the way the fabric stretches across deceptively broad shoulders, and the way his white apron is tied around his narrow waist. Jensen likes him in this light, fresh-faced and slightly messy, out in the real world. When Jared returns his stare, Jensen wonders how he compares to what Jared has seen at the fights.

“You should have told me you were coming.”

“Something wrong?”

“No, it’s just…” Jared waves at his stained clothing and Jensen can only shake his head and tell him, “You should see me at the end of the day. I’m usually a mess.” There’s also the fact that he was thinking about how good the kid looked, though he keeps that to himself. “Speaking of work, I’ve gotta go.”

“Right, yeah,” Jared sputters. “You’ll come back?”

Jensen’t fairly sure he doesn’t have a choice in the matter, not anymore. He leaves with a promise to come back before heading out to his car and his brother’s scrutiny.

Tahmoh doesn’t wait for Jensen to start the car before he asks the most relevant question. “Kind of young, isn’t he?”

“He’s twenty,” Jensen responds, staring straight ahead so as not to give Tahmoh more ammunition. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’m actually relieved it’s not _police_ business, but you’re my brother and, whatever the story is behind you knowing that kid, I’ll always be looking out for you.”

Jensen points the car towards home so he can drop Tahmoh off before heading to the jobsite. “It’s nothing. I met him while I was out one night, it’s not a big deal.”

Tahmoh frowns. “Out, huh?”

“What? I go out.”

Tahmoh shakes his head has the courtesy not to say anything else for the rest of the trip back, though he obviously knows that Jensen is evading the real story. There will be an official _brotherly_ interrogation later and Jensen won’t be able to dodge that one so easily.

Jensen’s elbow-deep in dishwater, cleaning up the kitchen on Wednesday night, when he gets a text. His phone is too far away to make out what it says, but Jensen catches his reflection in the window over the sink. Grinning like a boy with his first crush and _what the fuck_ is he doing? It’s just a text, yet these random snippets of conversation have somehow become a necessity.

Between work and projects, Jensen hasn’t made it back to the diner. That hasn’t stopped Jared from reaching out on a nightly basis, sustaining Jensen with random stories, bits and pieces from whatever book he’s reading, stories from the diner, and midnight confessions when his guard is low.

When his hands are dry, Jensen reaches for his phone. As soon as he sees the unknown number, no doubt from a burner cell, his smile disappears, his empty hand forming a fist. The message is simple: a date and a time. He’ll get another text tomorrow with a location.

Instead of waiting for Tahmoh to come home and watch television with him while he winds down, Jensen shuts himself in his room, sprawled out on his bed and turning options over in his mind.

Jensen rarely misses a fight night, always eager for the chance to slake his rage on a willing opponent and earn a fistful of cash in the process. And he needs that release—he might have found a way to suppress parts of the fire, but it continues to burn below the surface. These last few weeks, however, he’s lived in a bubble where the fights didn’t exist and he could get to know Jared without the distraction.

After lying there for an hour, he hears Tahmoh come home and make himself a late dinner, halting footsteps in the hallway outside as he checks on Jensen; the closed door tells him it’s better to give Jensen some space.

He wishes Jared would text. He needs that fragile connection tonight, yet his phone remains aggravatingly silent. He could call the kid like last time, though he’s not sure if he’d end up asking Jared to stay away from the upcoming fight or begging him to be there waiting when Jensen gets out of the ring, battered and bloody. The kid might have picked up another dinner shift or he’s gotten fed up with their one-sided text conversations. Either way, Jensen doesn’t pick up the phone, restless for the remainder of the night. When he finally manages to hit a patch of sleep deep enough for dreams, he sees the earth cracking along fiery lines, forced to watch helplessly and unable to prevent the destruction.

The following afternoon, there’s a text waiting for Jensen when he checks his phone during a break.

**Can’t wait to see you fight again.**

If Jensen wasn’t sitting down, the words would sweep his legs out from under him. Assuming the kid wouldn’t find out about the fight was naive—he’s been showing up for months even though the locations keep changing—but Jensen had shoved that fact to the back of his mind.

**Better if you stay home, kid.**

**You want me there. I remember. I want to see you.**

There’s no way to deny he wants to see Jared, too. It’s a compulsion. But Jensen also wants to keep him safe.

**I’ll come to the diner. Promise.**

**It’s not the same.**

Jensen drops his head against the stone wall at his back. Hell if that’s not the truth making this so damn complicated. It’s different between them at the fights, even before their connection turned physical. They are combustible—one of them is the fuel and one is the ignition. It’s hot and distracting and detached from the reality of their ordinary lives as a construction worker and a diner cook.

So much about the kid is a blank slate—his life, his family, his needs—and Jensen wants to fill in the gaps, wants more than the few embers he’s gotten, the ones that burn bright for a short time before they turn cold and dark.

**Tell me you’ll be careful.**

**Always am.**

He rereads those two words over and over until he has to stop and toss his phone into the passenger seat. There’s no way for him to respond, not when he knows he’s reading a lie. If the kid was always careful, he never would have met Jensen in the first place.

Another fight night, another empty factory. This one is more cramped than the others, but Jensen notes the same dirty floors, mildew on the walls, suspect wiring. There are wide swathes of exposed brick and, from the brine smell, they’re not too far from the harbor; it’s strange that no one has bought this place and somehow converted it into million dollar ‘urban’ condos.

Jensen’s there early to prowl through the crowd. He won’t appear in the ring until later—he’s earned his spot in the featured fights Ellis and his associates arrange to draw the biggest crowds—so he bides his time watching the early contests, evaluating styles and combinations while keeping one eye on the still-swelling audience, half dreading, half hoping.

Shouts and curses bounce off the thick walls, a surge in sound whenever someone goes down. People are riled up tonight, thanks in part to the longer-than-usual break between events. Ellis has people selling booze nearby—at a ridiculous profit, Jensen’s sure, considering his inventory probably fell off the back of a truck—and a liquored-up crowd means big bets. desensitized to the violence. The fighters remain sober, at least until their time in the ring has come and gone.

Jensen slips into a back hallway, needing a few minutes away from the commotion to find the right headspace. The only warning Jensen has is the prickling awareness that someone’s standing too close to him before he turns and meets Tom Ellis’ intense, dark gaze.

“Wonderful to have you back tonight, Mr. Ackles. You’re gaining quite the reputation, exceeding all of my expectations.” Everything about Ellis is sharp: his attire, his words, his focus. He doesn’t mask his wealth, that’s not his style; he wants everyone to see that he’s in charge. “There’s no question you enjoy a good fight.”

“It serves a purpose,” Jensen admits, skirting the truth.

“Seems you’ve been here long enough to develop a following of your own.” Ellis glances out into the crowd, half a smile on his face, and Jensen immediately tracks the path of his gaze, heart in his throat, hoping he won’t see Jared at the end of it. But there’s no sign of the kid anywhere, and Jensen breathes again.

“I admire skill,” Ellis is saying, oblivious to Jensen’s distraction, “but I also admire a bit of showmanship, the ability to win a crowd like the gladiators of Rome. I see quite a lot of potential in you, Mr. Ackles.”

He circles Jensen, slithering in the darkness. It’s meant to be intimidating, but Ellis is shit out of luck because Jensen’s been dealing with assholes for more than fifteen years, first in group homes, then juvie, then the military. The display doesn’t faze him, it only makes him curious.

“This doesn’t sound like a pep talk.”

Ellis’ grin widens. “I was merely wondering if you’d be interested in displaying your skills beyond this arena.”

A chill runs down his spine, but Jensen keeps it out of his expression. It wouldn’t be the first ‘job offer’ he’s received. Once people saw the way he fought, they figured he’d be willing to use his fists for any number of shady endeavours, the kind that landed someone in jail or the emergency room.

Ellis, however, swerves in a different direction. “From time to time, I host private events for a few of my more discerning clients. Exclusive parties with particular kinds of entertainment.”

“Like private cash fights,” Jensen responds, curious and repulsed at the same time.

“Amongst other things.” Ellis slides smoothly into his pitch, no one in the hallway to overhear them. Jensen imagines that Ellis planned it that way. “No more fighting on factory floors or dirty concrete, and your competition would be highly capable, like you—my clients enjoy a good show. There’d be suitable compensation, of course, much more than you’ll make here tonight.” 

As much as he hates to admit it, the money is tempting. Jensen and Tahmoh make enough to pay the mortgage and get by, with the extra being put back into the house, but they could do so much with a little more. If fighting in front of a few wealthy sickos instead of this raucous crowd could help them out…

“And there’d be extra _benefits_ for someone like you.”

Jensen’s thoughts grind to a halt. “Like me?”

“I make sure my employees have their needs taken care of, no matter their _tastes_.”

The current fight ends with a roar from the audience that reaches all the way into the hallway, but Jensen can’t tear his eyes away from Ellis’ devilish smile. It’s obvious now that the man knows something about his involvement with Jared, and Jensen wonders how much he’s seen, whether or not he suspects anything beyond Jensen’s fascination with the kid.

“Consider it carefully,” Ellis says when the noise dies down and members of his crew begin preparing for the next fight. “I’d hate to see you not take advantage of a rare opportunity like this.”

“I’ve gotta think about it.”

It’s not the answer Ellis wants, that much is clear from the way his smile sours, though he recovers quickly. “Well then, you’ve got a match to win in the meantime. I’m sure you’ll give us quite a show, Mr. Ackles.”

Ellis steps out of the hallway and is immediately swallowed by the crowd. Jensen takes off in the opposite direction, striding towards an old machinery room that’s barely bigger than the average closet. Grabbing his bag off the floor, Jensen digs out his phone and pulls up Jared’s texts from the night before.

The urge to warn him away is right there—Jensen isn’t worth putting the kid in harm’s way, not when it comes to people like Ellis—yet he fails to type a single word. As much as he wants to shield Jared, the thought of him not being there to watch the fight is worse. Jensen’s a damn fool, but he doesn’t change his mind.

The anger, banked until now, begins to rise as Ellis’ words feed into his desire and need to fight. That the sleazy opportunist would use his suspicions about his relationship with the kid to sway Jensen, to manipulate him, is all the fuel he needs.

He sends a quick text and doesn’t have to wait more than twenty seconds for a reply.

**You here?**

**Yes. Heard you’re up soon.**

It’s not relief rushing through his blood—a part of Jensen held onto hope that the kid was far away from this rank and dingy building—though it cools the worst of his rage, tempers it into something manageable.

If Ellis wants a show, that’s what he’ll get. A few minutes later, someone knocks on the door and tells Jensen he’s up next. He sends one more text and hears the answering chime almost immediately.

**Keep your head down.**

**Good luck.**

Jensen walks out of the room before he does something monumentally stupid like texting back that Jared is all the luck he needs tonight, no matter how true it is.

A haze descends the moment Jensen steps into the ring and stares across at his opponent. The crowd is chanting his name—Ellis was right, Jensen’s gained a reputation. The other fighter, who goes by Kane according to the man introducing the contest, looks like a seasoned pro with thick muscles and a sharp gaze. Jensen’s seen him around; he recognizes the Rangers tattoo inked on the left side of Kane’s ribcage. Stiff competition, but there’s an extra charge running through Jensen’s veins tonight. No matter what it takes, Jensen’s going to walk out victorious.

The fight begins as more of a dance than a brawl. Jensen learns how Kane moves, works out which of his reactions are weaknesses and which are meant to draw Jensen in. After that, the tempo changes and the noise from the crowd begins to penetrate the haze. Despite being a few inches shorter, Kane is tough and highly skilled, dissecting Jensen’s style, yet he lacks the same focused anger that makes Jensen faster, sharper, and more ruthless

Even with Jensen’s fury burning bright, the audience gets quite a show. Jensen wrestles his way out of an arm-hold and ends up pinning Kane with his legs, but he doesn’t let the fight end there. His rage and frustration are nowhere near to being smothered. All it takes is a faux-slip of his concentration for Kane to break free and they both get back on their feet, circling one another as they look for an opening to exploit.

It feels good to let loose, better than it usually does now that he’s battling someone on the same level. The sense of freedom is exhilarating, endorphins cascading into combat euphoria, and Jensen wishes he could feel this amazing outside the ring.

There’s a moment between hits, fists connecting with solid muscle, when Jensen wonders what Jared thinks of the action. Jensen is that much closer to the fire front tonight, closer to the monster he imagines himself to be. Will the revelation frighten the kid off or will it draw him closer like a moth to the flame. As Jensen lands another blow, a roar ripped from his chest, he wonders which outcome he’s hoping for.

Though he’s caught no sign of Jared amongst the crowd, the thought of him pushes Jensen harder. He’s hyper-focused, almost reacting to Kane’s moves before he makes them. He’s quick to dodge Kane’s blows and lightning fast when he attacks. The finale is brutal and swift, and Jensen knocks the man out to thunderous applause.

His triumph is celebrated raucously as he exits the ring, slaps on the back from those who bet on him and cursed threats ringing in his ears from those who didn’t. The haze clears leaving Jensen more aware of his surroundings as his adrenaline ebbs. He looks to the side as he’s pushed along and finds Ellis watching him, a triumphantly sinister smile twisting his lips, and recalls why he fought so viciously.

There’s no time to savor his victory; he needs to get the hell out of here.

By the time he makes it into the back hallway, Jensen’s managed to shake his fans, leaving them to cash in their bets and await the next fight. The door to the machinery room is barely closed behind him when he’s startled by movement in the shadows.

Jared stands there, eyes wide and shining as they reflect what little light spills from the low-watt bulb hanging above their heads. He’s dressed to blend in with the crowd in a dark, hooded sweatshirt and well-worn jeans, layers creating the illusion of bulk. Like a cool rain, the sight of the kid calms Jensen enough to step forward and react.

“Did anyone see you come in here?”

The question, harsher than it’s meant to be, earns him a shake of Jared’s head. “I snuck away before the fight ended, once I knew you were gonna win. God, Jensen, you were…” his voice becomes breathless, “you were incredible tonight.”

Avoiding Jared’s awestruck gaze, he grabs his bag and pulls out a shirt, unconcerned with his sweat and dirt-streaked chest. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

Jared’s hand, reaching out to touch Jensen’s shoulder, falters. “Now?”

“Yeah, it’s not safe to stick around.”

“Not safe? What are you talking about?” Jared steps fully into his space and Jensen can sense the way he’s being scrutinized, the kid’s eyes taking in every detail from the hard set of his shoulders to the fine tremor in his fingers as he pulls the shirt over his head. Jared drops his hand. “What happened?”

The question is hesitant, and Jensen wonders if what Jared saw in the ring really did spark fear in him, no matter what he said moments ago. Perhaps it was too soon to be grateful. It’s not like he could blame the kid if it had.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not _scared_ of you, Jensen,” he argues, “I’m worried. Something happened, right? Before the fight?”

He can’t tell Jared, not while they’re in this building surrounded by unfriendly eyes and self-serving interests. “Look, I just need to make sure you get out of here alright.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I will, just—can you let me do this, first?”

Jared’s confusion softens to acceptance. “You’re gonna come with me?”

“Yeah, kid, I am.” Jensen knows he’s making the right choice when Jared stands a little straighter, his gaze determined. He hands over his car keys and tells Jared where he parked. “Get out fast, don’t talk to anyone. If someone tries to stop you, just start running.”

“Jensen…” That’s definitely fear, now.

“Just get in my car and lock the doors. I’ll be right behind you.”

Jared must read the urgency of the situation because he doesn’t ask why they can’t leave together. It stings to watch him sneak quietly out of the machinery room, tracking his progress down the hall. Jensen hears the howls and bellows from the crowd watching the current fight; with everyone distracted by the action, hopefully Jared slips away unnoticed.

Unwilling to leave Jared alone any longer than necessary, Jensen zips up his bag and steps into his faded running shoes. Brandt—Ellis’ scary-as-hell partner who handles payouts for the fighters—is waiting outside the back hallway with an envelope containing Jensen’s winnings, which he grabs on his way past. He nearly makes it beyond the action in the ring, where two stoutly-built women are wrestling for dominance, before someone steps up and blocks his way.

_Fuckin’ hell._

Stephen Amell is grinning like he’s just run into Jensen at the grocery store: wide, casual, and completely put-on. He’s dressed to fight, no doubt up next as the night’s top billing. Nothing in his wide stance comes off as friendly.

“Ackles, I saw you talking to Ellis. Heard he made you an offer.”

Word traveled fast. Either Amell has a friend or two amongst Ellis’ hired goons or he’s closer to the mysterious organizer than Jensen figured.

Jensen’s forced to raise his voice to be heard above the noise surrounding the fight. “He mentioned something earlier.”

“Gonna say yes?”

“I didn’t have time to decide, too busy dealing with the former Ranger in the ring with me.”

Amell whistles. “That was wicked impressive. Guy put up a hell of a fight, but you were fucking brutal, man. I loved it.”

Jensen’s stomach churns in distaste, his nerves are working overtime and his system is paying the price. “Just another payday.”

“Hell, if you’re looking for a payday, you oughta do a few of Ellis’ private fights. The money is insane!”

“Yeah? You’ve been working those?”

Amell preens, crossing his arms in a powerful stance. “I’ve done a few. I’m undefeated so far.”

It makes sense, now, that he would know about Ellis’ offer. Amell had probably jumped at the opportunity when it was presented to him.

“And yet you’re still showing up for these fights.”

He shrugs. “It’s different. Guess I like to be entertained, too.”

Jensen’s assumptions were right; this guy enjoys watching for all the wrong reasons. Amell gets off on the violence, the pain, the dominance, just for the thrill of it.

“Ellis has good instincts,” Amell is saying. “I bet you’d do pretty well.”

“Gotta think about it some more,” Jensen tells him, “but I need to head out.”

He thinks Amell is going to prevent him from leaving—it crossed his mind that Ellis sent the other fighter to persuade him by any means necessary—but he steps aside with another fake grin. 

“Enjoy yourself tonight, Ackles,” he says, and he must be taking lessons from Ellis because there’s something perverse in his tone that hits Jensen all wrong. “You deserve it.”

The apprehension trails Jensen outside and all the way around to his car. His heart beats in double-time and he can’t help glancing over his shoulder to make sure he isn’t being followed by anyone on Ellis’ payroll. By the time Jensen reaches his car, he’s breathing hard and leaning on the door to steady himself. He nearly shakes out of his skin when there’s a soft tap on the window behind him.

Jared is sitting in the car, safe and sound, gazing out at Jensen and mouthing, “You okay?” through the glass as he unlocks the doors from inside.

He’s not, but as soon as he sits behind the wheel and catches Jared looking over with a small smile, it feels like he could be. 

“Time to get you home,” he says when he’s pulling away. “I can pick you up and take you back to your car in the morning if you need me to.”

Jared shrinks back against his seat. “Oh, I thought...you can just take me to the diner if you want.”

“The diner? Don’t you want to go home?”

The pause tells Jensen more than Jared’s actual answer. “It’s not really a great night for me to be there.”

Jensen’s knuckles go white around the steering wheel; he knows so little about the kid riding shotgun. “If something’s going on at home—”

“It’s not what you’re thinking, I promise,” Jared says before Jensen has a flare-up. “It’s complicated.”

“So complicated that you can’t go home?”

Jared nods, and Jensen’s eyes shift back to the road. He heads south of the city, an idea taking shape. There’s no way he’s going to abandon the kid at the diner for the rest of the night—he may be an asshole sometimes, but he’s not cruel—which leaves one unexpected and unwise destination.

“Guess you’re coming home with me then.”

“Gonna tell me what happened before your fight?” Jared mumbles around a mouthful of hummus and pita bread. The food was a treat Tahmoh left in the refrigerator for Jensen when he came home.

“Gonna tell me what was so complicated about going home?” Jensen shoots back before taking another bite and staring pointedly across the kitchen counter.

Jared brings the folded sandwich back up to his mouth. Jensen figures he made his point.

The house was empty when they arrived, no sign of Tahmoh beyond the plate of food he left. At first, Jared waved off something to eat, but that didn’t stop Jensen from dutifully splitting it and pouring two glasses of Coke, bringing it all to the counter while Jared dropped his stuff next to the couch and made himself a little more comfortable. As soon as the food was in front of him, Jared dug in, barely chewing before half the plate was gone. Jensen remembers that age, always starving because it felt like his skin was too tight, stretching over growing bone and muscle. Fortunately, there was no shortage of food in basic training, although that changed when he deployed overseas.

Sitting across from the kid—hell, just having him here—Jensen expects the familiar stirrings of lust and desire. Sparks tended fly when they’re alone together. Jared is gorgeous and tempting in his faded hooded and tight jeans, his hair soft and falling innocently across his forehead, yet it’s tempered by a mixture of fondness and affection, plus a small dose of humility Jensen’s never felt before, in part because Jared trusted him enough to come here. Jensen vows never to break that trust if he can help it.

What the hell could Jared possibly see in him?

He’s refilling Jared’s soda when the kid breaks the comfortable silence.

“It’s because of my mom,” he says softly, as if he’s struggling to find the easiest way to say this. “My dad bailed before I started high school and my mom got remarried. Things were okay for a bit, but then she had my two half-sisters and suddenly there wasn’t room for me anymore.”

“They kicked you out?”

Jared shakes his head, fingers sliding around the rim of his glass. “I think having me around is awkward for them. I mostly keep to myself. My older brother was already gone when they got married so he never had to deal with it.”

There’s a lot Jared isn’t saying and Jensen doesn’t want to push. However, he has to ask, “Doesn’t your brother help you out?”

“He works all the time, but I have a key to his place so I can crash on his couch if I really need to.”

“And tonight?”

“It’s my mom and stepdad's anniversary. I remind her too much of all the shit my dad put her through.” He shrugs. “I figured it was better if I stayed away.”

Jared’s melancholy strikes Jensen right in the middle of his chest. Jensen has carved out a space for himself here in this house; it’s his and he would defend it because he remembers what it feels like not to belong anywhere growing up. He can’t imagine how much deeper it cuts to actually have a family and still feel like that.

The kid’s stronger than Jensen thought. He also deserves the same kind of honesty.

“You know who Tom Ellis is?”

“He runs the fights,” Jared says as he follows Jensen to the sink with his empty plate. “I try to avoid him, but I’ve seen him around.”

“Good,” Jensen says as he rinses their dishes and sets them aside. “The guy’s wicked shady. I guarantee the fights aren’t his only illegal operation. Tonight, he offered me a chance to make more money fighting at parties for his wealthy friends.”

“Did you say yes?” 

Jensen shifts and leans his hip on the counter, mirroring Jared’s pose. They’re only a foot apart, and Jensen can make out at least four different colors in Jared’s eyes, tiny details he never noticed in the dark, dingy backroom.

“I couldn’t,” Jensen admits. Jared exhales slowly, his long fingers reaching out to fidget with the bottom hem of Jensen’s henley. “He said something—he implied that he knew about us.” He lets Jared pull him a little closer. “As if he could use you as an incentive to get me to say yes.”

“You were scared,” Jared says, voice dropping to a whisper, “and you were angry. That’s why the fight—”

“Yeah.” Jensen doesn’t need him to repeat the details; he’s already buried most of it. The euphoria waned quickly after he ran into Amell. That kind of crash would normally leave Jensen wired and anxious for the rest of the night. Being here with Jared is like having a trench between Jensen and the afterburn—he knows the madness is there, but Jared stops it from getting anywhere close.

“ _Fuck_ , Jensen.”

The kid needs to understand why Jensen tried to keep his distance. It was never for selfish reasons; there’s almost nothing in the world he’s ever wanted more than this skinny, perceptive young man who’s looking at Jensen like he’s a storybook hero come to life. Fuck if that’s not a hell of a lot of pressure, though it’s tough to care about that when Jared’s leaning into what little space remains between them and pressing their mouths together.

They’ve never had the luxury of taking it slow, always aware that they could be discovered any second. That changes tonight. Jensen has every intention of taking Jared apart piece by piece, starting with his mouth and letting the kiss build from the ground up.

Jared’s arms wrap around his back and grip tight as if Jensen’s going to turn away or change his mind. He rarely allows himself to be held like this, preferring anonymity and efficiency in his sexual encounters. Those nights revolved around release, no reason to let intimacy slip through the cracks. He shouldn’t be surprised that the script is flipped tonight. Something about the kid makes Jensen want to throw his preferences out the window.

The countertop digs into Jensen’s side, and he’s about to suggest moving to the bedroom when Jared’s lips find a sensitive patch of skin beneath his jaw. He angles his head, eager to give Jared more room to explore, and he catches a whiff of himself.

“Damn, kid,” he groans, gently easing Jared away. “I need a shower.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s really not, I’m ripe.” It’s one thing directly after a fight, but Jensen never bothered to towel off tonight and the grime is a coating on his skin. Crooking his finger, he leads Jared through the house to his bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable, use whatever you need.”

“Want company?” the kid asks in a way that makes Jensen think he’s not sure what he’s offering.

“Like you have no idea, but not tonight, okay?” He softens his refusal with another kiss. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

It’s not a cold shower, but it’s close. Jensen douses himself in body wash and scrubs down without wasting time. Thinking about what’s waiting back in his bedroom is torture: wide, eager lips, a smooth, swan-like neck leading to a chest that will eventually fill out but for now perfectly fits the shape of Jensen’s hands.

Soap bubbles run down Jensen’s body as he rinses. He cuts off the water as soon as his feet are clean. Putting clothes back on seems counterproductive, but he also wants the kid to be feel at ease, so he compromises with clean boxers and a fitted t-shirt that does big favors for his shoulders and chest.

The sight of Jared waiting for him is equal parts sweet and enticing. Reclining on Jensen’s bed in his t-shirt and jeans—he ditched the hoodie at some point—Jared appears truly relaxed for the first time all night. The bulge in his jeans, obvious to Jensen’s gaze from the way those long, lean legs are spread in anticipation, along with the rapid rise and fall of his cotton-covered chest, means he doesn’t intend to stay that way for long.

Jared sits up as soon as Jensen steps into the bedroom, eyeing Jensen with a thorough head-to-toe appreciation.

“Told you I’d be quick.”

“I hope that’s the last time I hear that tonight,” the kid says with a knowing smile, and _holy hell_ Jensen wants to kiss the shit out of him.

Jensen’s across the room in two strides, knees knocking against Jared’s as he tips him back onto the bed and seeks out those lips. Their bodies fit together and their hips seek complementary friction. It’s suddenly a hundred times better when Jared steals a move straight out of Jensen’s fight and rolls him over onto his back and triumphantly climbs on top.

“Impressive,” he says, tugging at Jared’s bottom lip with his teeth.

“Told you I’d been watching.”

With Jared braced above him, Jensen is free to map his body with both hands. Despite his early assumptions, the kid’s no delicate flower. He might be smaller—Jensen’s spent years packing on muscle and using it—but Jared’s got plenty of room to grow. It’s plain in the strength of his frame, his long fingers and big feet. A few more inches and he’d have a sizeable edge on Jensen, and that’s not exactly an unappealing thought.

Now that Jensen’s finally got Jared in a bed, there are no holds barred. Jared arches against him, plays tricks with his tongue that make him melt. The kid has no idea how he affects Jensen—the way he swings from innocence to experience, sometimes within a single damn kiss, as if he knows what he wants but not always how to get it. Or how to ask for it. Jensen saw as much the first time Jared went to his knees for him, and under the threat of discovery, no less. 

Jared needs time to mature into his body _and_ his kinks, and it’s going to be fucking amazing when he does.

If tonight lacks in urgency, it makes up for it with intensity. The lights are low, but he doesn’t miss a single expression that crosses Jared’s face: pleasure, surprise, a flash of wickedness. His eyes go dark when he strips Jensen out of his shirt and begins to catalog the entire story of Jensen’s life laid out in swirls of ink and milky-white scars.

His fingers are gentle when they circle the dime-sized scar below Jensen’s left collarbone.

“Bullet in Afghanistan,” Jensen explains. “Don’t worry, I can’t feel anything.”

Jared gains confidence as he explores the rest of Jensen’s torso while Jensen narrates the journey. 

Three inches to the left of his belly button. “Knife during a patrol. Shallow, but it hurt like a bitch.” A silvery web of lines on the back of his right hand where the skin is slightly puckered. “Car accident when I was a kid, according to my file. I don’t remember anything.” Dark ink on his upper arm depicting a shield and sword. “My division overseas. Got it before my first tour.” Below the Army tattoo, a name in fine script. “Tahmoh. He’s family, and he’s got my name on the back of his shoulder, too.”

Jared claims the rest of Jensen’s skin for himself. There’s only so much tenderness Jensen can take before he goes crazy, grabbing Jared by the back of the neck and pulling him down. This kiss is sharper than the others, commanding and forceful, broken only when Jensen drags Jared’s shirt over his head. There are acres of skin to worship, but Jensen has a destination in mind, palms sliding down Jared’s back and tucking under his jeans.

There’s no rush, yet it’s suddenly imperative for Jensen to get his mouth on the kid. He coaxes Jared onto his back again, detouring to lay another kiss on those tempting, pink lips, then proceeds to wind his way south. Jensen drags his tongue between Jared’s nipples, trying not to become distracted along the way when he passes that flat stomach. Fingers toying with the button on Jared’s jeans, Jensen pauses and looks up, waiting for a signal to keep going. Jared nods, cheeks pink and hair wild on the white sheets, and Jensen wastes no time stripping him bare.

He’s wanted this—pictured it, obsessed over this moment—since Jared first sought him out, and the vision goes beyond his fantasies. 

Jared’s cock is flushed and hot when Jensen wraps his hand around it, and his voice wavers when he admits, “Don’t think I can wait any longer to suck you off.”

“Oh fuck…” Jared shudders and groans. For a second, Jensen thinks he’s already come, the words tipping him over the edge. “No one’s ever—”

“No one?” That’s an unexpected snag, but Jensen can’t pretend that he doesn’t feel the corresponding rush in his blood.

Jared shakes his head. “I want you to. Please, Jensen.”

“You don’t have to beg, kid.”

He doesn’t miss the way the nickname makes Jared tremble from head to toe. All thoughts of teasing dissolve between one deep breath and the next. Knowing that he’s the first to show Jared this kind of pleasure is hotter than a hundred one-night stands. For once in his life, Jensen’s in the right place at exactly the right time. He’s going to put his years of experience to good use and blow the kid’s mind.

Slipping lower between Jared’s legs, he eagerly acquaints himself with Jared’s cock, testing the heft and shape with his lips and following the heat with his tongue. It’s as pretty up close as Jensen thought it would be given his rushed glimpses after the fights. The kid’s a grower, slender and pale when soft, but filling out to a gorgeous, unspoiled rosy shade that matches Jensen’s lips.

Jared is already sliding towards incoherence, thighs quivering on either side of Jensen’s head, no sensible order to the words falling from his lips. Jensen bobs up and down, employing every technique and filthy trick that’s been used on him in the past. He’s sorely out of practice, and it’s wet and a little sloppy, but Jensen is hard from the potent taste of Jared’s skin and the sounds he’s making. Fuck if that’s not a first—Jensen hasn’t touched himself yet. The experience unravels something within him, a long-buried desire. 

Jensen compiles a mental list of all the wanton, pornographic things he wants to do while he has Jared at his mercy. Licking over those sharp, protruding hip bones, biting milky white thighs until the skin bears the imprint of his teeth. He craves the opportunity to suck Jared’s balls, a tasty mouthful, and see if the kid’s able to come without anything touching his cock. It’s a laundry list of desires that’ll take years of dedicated service to complete, and right now, tasting Jared at the back of his throat, Jensen thinks he’s up to the task.

Grabbing Jared’s thighs, Jensen uses his grip to fuck his own mouth since the kid is too wrecked to coordinate his movements. He doesn’t do this often, and his gag reflex protests the sudden intrusion, but Jensen pushes through it, keeping the thrusts shallow. Jared is writhing, gasping until he’s barely making any sound at all, choking on the pleasure.

When Jared comes, Jensen can’t resist adding to the sensation, dragging his knuckles down over Jared’s perineum and feeling the kid shudder in his hold. That’s one hell of a promising reaction to explore in the future.

“Good?” Jensen asks, staring down at the delicious spread of flesh beneath him while licking a stray drop of come from his lips.

Jared’s voice is weak and astounded when he admits, “Oh my _god_. That’s my new favorite thing.”

Watching Jared recover is its own kind of reward. The kid regains his strength slowly, content to let Jensen’s fingers and tongue explore the planes and hollows he’d skipped in the rush to get his mouth on Jared’s cock. By the time Jared feels revived enough to wrap his hand around Jensen’s aching erection, Jensen is keyed-up and desperate. 

He wants to last, to keep tonight going as long as possible, but Jared is determined and devious, gaining confidence with each moment that passes. Jensen’s never felt so undone by a handjob before, groaning when Jared uses his free hand to fondle Jensen’s sack, tugging gently and tickling the sensitive skin. His orgasm hits like a tidal wave; all Jensen can do is haul Jared up the length of his body and kiss him as he’s coming, muffling his moans in the hot, wet comfort of Jared’s mouth.

Jensen wakes up alone. It’s almost a minute before he realizes why that doesn’t seem right.

Sitting up in bed, he sees that his room is empty and there’s no sound of running water from the bathroom. His phone, silent on the nightstand, doesn’t show any missed calls or texts. Very much awake now, Jensen throws on his gym tank and grabs a pair of jeans from the pile of clean laundry on his dresser before stepping out of his room. It’s only when he gets closer to the kitchen that he hears two familiar voices.

When he peers into the kitchen, his heart does a somersault. Jared is standing at the stove in bare feet, his jeans from the night before, and a green henley that looks suspiciously like it came from that same pile of clean laundry. Beside him, Tahmoh is cracking eggs into a bowl and laughing at something the kid just said.

Jensen was so spaced out from his orgasm last night, he forgot that Tahmoh coming home and finding Jared there was a possibility.

“Typical,” Tahmoh huffs when he catches sight of Jensen. “Asleep for the cooking, but awake for the food.”

Jensen’s appearance catches Jared off guard. He startles and knocks his hip into the counter, Tahmoh reaching out to steady him. His hair is a tousled mess and there’s plenty of creamy skin on display where the shirt is open at his throat.

Jensen grins. “No one woke me up.”

“I’m used to getting up early for work,” Jared explains. “I went to make breakfast, and your brother was here when I walked in.”

“And even though it was a bit of a surprise, I wasn’t gonna say no to a homemade breakfast from this guy,” Tahmoh finishes.

Jared continues his work at the stove while Jensen and Tahmoh have a silent conversation behind his back. Tahmoh probably never expected to see the kid at their house this soon, given how little Jensen has told him, but he won’t make a big deal out of it. Jensen predicts a major talk in the near future, though, given the deep furrow across Tahmoh’s brow.

If Jensen’s going to survive breakfast, he needs coffee. Fortunately, Tahmoh brewed a pot and there’s an empty mug sitting next to the machine. A few sips bring Jensen some much needed balance. When he pictured his first morning after with Jared, it featured a lazy round of morning sex if he was lucky and another hour of sleep before they got out of bed to drive Jared back to his car. This domestic scene, Jared flipping omelettes while Tahmoh shares an amusing story from his last shift, has Jensen reconsidering the definition of lucky.

Embracing the urge, he steps up behind Jared and looks over the kid’s shoulder at the mix of eggs and vegetables. “Mmmm, morning,” he hums, kissing the side of Jared’s throat where the scent of sex lingers heavily. Jared leans into him naturally as if they’ve done this a hundred mornings in a row.

The three of them eat at the table, mouths too full to talk until their plates are half empty. It’s better than the food at the diner because Jared’s beside him and Jensen can look his fill.

“Hope Tahmoh didn’t give you a hard time earlier,” Jensen says once his hunger’s been dealt with. “Sometimes the cop thing goes to his head.”

“Oh, we _talked_ ,” Tahmoh says, sharing a look with the kid. “He’s a pretty big fan of your fighting style.”

That’s putting it mildly. “Thought you didn’t want to hear any of the details.”

“From you, definitely not, but Jared was an innocent bystander, right?”

“I asked him where you learned to fight,” Jared says.

Tahmoh opens his mouth before Jensen objects. “And I told him you learned everything from me, obviously.”

Jensen loves his brother for keeping the mood light and not asking one of the many questions he must have, his family side overruling his instincts as a cop.

“I might have learned a _few_ things from you when we were kids,” Jensen taunts, “but at least I’m still putting my skills to use. Bet you’re pretty rusty, Moh. Too many donuts and not enough time in the gym.”

Tahmoh lights up. “You’re gonna come at me like that in front of our guest, Jen? What do you think, Jared, did that sound like a challenge to you?”

They both turn and find Jared smiling. The sight hits Jensen like a ray of sunshine on a cold New England morning.

“I’ve seen Jensen take out guys bigger than you.”

Tahmoh scoffs. “Now that’s a challenge, kid. You sticking around today?”

Jared shrugs and glances over at Jensen. They haven’t exactly gotten the chance to talk about it, but Jensen was kind of hoping for a full day of _Netflix and chill_ as long as Jared was willing to stick around.

“I’ve got today off and no plans, I don’t want to be in the way.”

If Jensen hadn’t brought the kid home last night, he wonders where Jared would be now. Curled up in a booth at the diner, reading or catching up on sleep, maybe crashed out on the couch at his brother’s place, an afterthought to his own family.

“Then I say we hit the gym,” Tahmoh suggests, “so I can prove to you both that I’ve still got it.”

The teasing continues as they finish breakfast. Jensen and Tahmoh are stuck with cleaning duty—it’s only fair, Tahmoh said, since Jared cooked—while Jared grabs a shower.

“Hey, about the kid…”

“You don’t have to explain right now,” Tahmoh says, placing the last clean pan in the dishrack, “but I get what you see in him. If you want me to back off today, leave you guys alone, just say the word.”

“We never talked about it. It’s getting complicated, Moh,” he admits, bracing himself against the counter and letting his head drop, some of his earlier tension returning. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Tahmoh’s broad hand settles on his shoulder, squeezing once. “You could both use a distraction. Maybe this is a good idea, you know? Get you out of your own damn head and let Jared see you having a little fun.”

“Fun kicking your ass, you mean?”

That supportive grip turns into a playful slap on the back. “Keep dreaming, Jen.”

Aleks Paunovic is thrilled to see Tahmoh and Jensen walk through the front door of the gym he’s been running for over a decade. The former-stuntman-turned-trainer immediately wraps one arm around each man and drags them in for a bone-jarring hug. There’s no use resisting the embrace—Aleks has a few inches and at least thirty pounds of muscle on them.

“Tahmoh’s got an excuse with his lousy hours,” Aleks scolds, shaking Jensen even harder, “but you went from living here half the week to barely coming in a couple times a month.”

His tone is friendly, but he has to know what’s been keeping Jensen away. Ellis’ network is vast and since this is where Jensen learned about the fights, the rumors must have made their way back around by now.

Jensen is spared further admonishment when Aleks catches sight of Jared hovering in the lobby behind them, and he’s delighted when Jensen informs him that the kid wants to learn some basic moves.

“You wanna fight like these two?” Aleks asks, laughing.

“How about self defense for now?” Jensen suggests, checking with Jared for confirmation. It’s an idea they came up with on the drive over after Tahmoh asked if Jared was interested in sparring with them.

“The last time I was in a gym, I was in high school,” he’d answered innocently, leaving Jensen a little green in the face while Tahmoh chuckled like an idiot in the backseat of Jensen’s car.

Jensen buys Jared a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from the display of branded merchandise Aleks keeps at the front of the gym. When he protests, Jensen reels him close. Boston’s a fairly liberal city, but Jensen’s glad that Tahmoh and Aleks form a wall between the two of them and the rest of the gym. You never know who might be watching.

“Don’t want you getting my shirt all sweaty,” he whispers against Jared’s forehead before nudging him in the direction of the locker room with his new clothes.

Tahmoh’s shoulders are shaking with contained laughter when Jensen turns around.

He growls, “What?”

“You’re wicked fucking cute right now, that’s what.”

“Shut the hell up, man, and let me kick your ass already.”

Despite all the taunts and jabs traded back and forth this morning, Jensen finds himself going through the motions when he and Tahmoh begin to spar after a quick warm up. Tahmoh is doing his best to distract Jensen, but his eyes keep wandering to the left where Jared is working on boxing stances with Aleks.

“Don’t worry, Jen,” Tahmoh says, knocking him lightly on the shoulder, “Aleks loves teaching. Probably more than he likes working with the blockheads who think they know everything. Jared’s in good hands.”

“It’s not that,” Jensen confesses, lunging forward with a halfhearted swipe that Tahmoh dodges. 

“I mean, sure, he’s pretty. Not my type, but that’s not what has you all knotted up, is it?” Tahmoh kicks out, trying to catch Jensen off guard. Jokes aside, he’s always been a stronger kickboxer than Jensen, and he nearly succeeds in taking him down. “C’mon, Jen. Don’t want to look bad in front of Jared, do you?”

Sure enough, the kid’s glancing in their direction, deliciously sweaty and flushed from exertion. Jensen recognizes that look from the night before when the activity was much less combative, but equally intense. He shakes off that mental image, tells himself to get his head back in the ring. It’s hardly the first time he’s fought and carried the weight of Jared’s stare; by now, it’s almost a comfort. His next few hits are slightly off the mark, though, and Tahmoh circles him, a crease in that wide brow.

“Something happen?”

“Thought you weren’t gonna ask.”

“That was before _this_ sad display. Look, Jen, the kid’s having a good time,” he points out, looking over to where Jared is laughing at something Aleks said, “so why aren’t you?”

Jensen doubles his focus and tries to concentrate on Tahmoh’s moves. Jared is having fun, letting the bad shit go for a while. Still, they need to be careful—any one of the fighters working out around them could be on Tom Ellis’ payroll and Jensen can’t afford to give him more ammunition. That’s the thought that keeps him tense, makes him sloppy, and Tahmoh knows him too well to let it slide. He comes at Jensen harder, forcing him to defend himself, and it pisses Jensen off.

The kid shouldn’t need self defense, shouldn’t be in a position where he’s potentially in danger because he made the mistake of falling for Jensen in the first place. Each and every one of those silent condemnations feeds into his anger. Tahmoh presses, and the friendly sparring turns serious.

“What is it, Jen?” he hisses through clenched teeth after backing Jensen up against the side of the ring. “Did someone try to hurt the kid?”

Jensen pushes him off and swings, guilt providing the thrust.

Tahmoh recovers. “And what, you blame yourself?” 

Jensen’s next attack is harder to dodge, all the shame and anger boiling inside him. Jensen had smothered it last night, intent on taking care of Jared and the mind-incinerating sex that followed, but Tahmoh could draw a map of Jensen’s weak spots; he knows where to push. There’s a reason he made detective so early.

Jensen has the upper hand for a moment, but Tahmoh is clever and persistent. The hell with Jensen—his brother could make a killing in the underground fights if he wasn’t such a standup guy. Unlike Jensen, he’s actually thinking clearly, no murky or muddled thoughts to distract him in the ring. A handful of moves later, Tahmoh pins him to the floor of the ring.

“Talk to me, Jen. Tell me if there’s something I need to do as your brother or as a cop. I swear, either way, I’m not going anywhere.”

Jensen caves, slumping in Tahmoh’s hold. “Not here,” he says in a low voice. “I’ll tell you, just not here.”

The words and Jensen’s tone are enough to appease Tahmoh. He lets Jensen go and helps him to his feet. Tahmoh’s expression says he’ll hold him to that promise, and Jensen nods in confirmation.

Jared approaches the side of the ring with a smile on his face, oblivious to the heavy moment he’s interrupting. Tahmoh and Jensen step apart, each of them returning his grin.

“How was it?” Jensen asks, attempting to regain his equilibrium. “Ready to take me yet?”

Something dark and very, very devious flashes through Jared’s eyes. Beside him, Tahmoh snorts and looks away.

“Is Aleks done with you?” Jensen asks.

“He had a client to train,” Jared tells them, “but he said you guys could teach me a thing or two.”

Tahmoh laughs. “I thought Jensen already did that.” 

Jensen punches him in the shoulder. Hard. 

“Oh, you mean about _fighting_!”

“You’re wicked hilarious.” Jensen shakes his head. Below them, Jared looks delighted.

“Sure,” Tahmoh says once he’s done chuckling at Jensen’s expense, “I think we can do better than a thing or two. Right, Jen?”

He steps forward and holds the ropes. “Get on up here, kid.”

Jensen drags his hand across the small of Jared’s back after he climbs up. If anyone is watching, it might appear incidental. When Jared looks over, heat and trust in his expression, Jensen knows he’s only fooling himself.

Two hours later, Jensen parks his car behind Jared’s old truck. The three of them climb out and Tahmoh steps away to give them some privacy under the guise of checking out the area despite the fact that Jensen already drove around the block twice. Ellis and his people have cleaned up shop and moved on.

“Let me know when you get to your mom’s, okay?” Jensen asks.

“I could go back to your place,” Jared offers, shuffling a little closer. After the gym, he’d changed back into his jeans and Jensen’s henley. The sight is unspeakably distracting. “Hitting the gym wasn’t exactly how I planned for today to go.”

That brings a small smile to Jensen’s face and fills his head with all kinds of alternate plans, the majority of which involve nudity and Jensen’s bed. “You and me both, kid. Normally I’d say yes, but Moh and I have some things to talk about.”

“About me?”

“About Ellis. Tahmoh is my family, but he’s still a cop. I need to figure out what I’m gonna do, and he can help.” Which is mostly true, though Tahmoh will have plenty of questions about Jared, too. Jensen isn’t looking forward to those.

Jared nods in understanding and takes Jensen’s hand, rubbing his thumb over thick knuckles. “You’re not brushing me off, right? This is real?”

“Fuck, kid,” Jensen groans, “you know it’s real.”

The kiss is a risk, but Jensen would rather take a hit than let Jared go without one. It’s short and rough, more bite than tongue, and has Jensen seriously reconsidering his stance on letting Jared leave. He takes a step back, hands in his pockets to stop from reaching out as Jared walks slowly to his truck.

Tahmoh waits behind Jensen’s car, looking up when Jared calls out and waving goodbye with a fond grin on his face.

The second they’re back in the car, Tahmoh’s grin disappears. “Ready to tell me what’s going on?”

Jensen takes a deep breath, his thoughts nowhere near ordered. “Let’s go home,” he suggests, watching Jared pull away before he turns his own car around and heads in the opposite direction. “We’re gonna need something stronger than beer for this.”

Tahmoh needs two shots of Irish whiskey to make it through the entire story. Jensen needs four.

By the end, Jensen feels like he’s gone another round in the ring, only these are bruises he’ll wear on the inside. Tahmoh is slumped against the back of the couch eyeing the bottle of whiskey on the table as if he’s thinking about adding a third.

“You’ve gotta stop going to the fights,” he insists, the first thing either of them have said after five minutes of silence.

Jensen grimaces. “I can’t—you know why I can’t.”

His brother leans forward, elbows on his knees. “There are other ways to get that kind of release for your anger, all healthier than beating the shit out of a stranger for money. Not to mention _legal_. You could train with Aleks more often, start teaching others like you were doing with Jared.”

“Jared found me there. What if he doesn’t—”

“Did I hit you too hard earlier? Couldn’t you see the way he looked at you?”

“You mean when we were fighting?” he asks, unconvinced.

“I’m talking about before that, while we were having breakfast, or at the gym when you were correcting his stance. You’re crazy if you think he stuck around all day because of the way you act when you’re fighting.”

He caught glances from Jared today, but with the weight of everything distracting him, Jensen obviously missed something important.

Jensen’s had a rough life, each tragedy and misstep cutting into him and leaving him with jagged splinters, and he fears Jared getting snagged on one of his rough edges. If the kid keeps showing up at the underground fights, he might end up on the wrong path: a road Jensen is all too familiar with. He’d give almost anything to make sure that doesn’t happen. 

At the end of their talk, Tahmoh leaves him with a promise to look into Tom Ellis, unofficially, on his own time, before he calls it an early night.

“Been a day and a half since I slept,” he admits after a long yawn. “I was gonna hit the hay as soon as I got home this morning, but that’s when I walked in and saw Jared.”

“Sorry about that.”

Tahmoh’s half-smile is sleepy, yet genuine. “Don’t be. I really like the kid, Jen. When you talk to him, tell him he’s welcome here anytime.”

Jensen walks up to the Back Bay Diner late on Sunday morning and finds himself pushing through a crowd of twenty-five people all waiting for tables to open up.

Fucking _brunch_.

Before Jensen can turn around and leave, he catches the same redhead who was here when Jensen came with Tahmoh waves to him. Seeing she has Jensen’s attention, she points to a single empty stool at the end of the long counter.

“Hey. Danni, right?” he asks when he sits down.

“Got it in one,” she says. “Never got your name, but I remember you. You’re the guy.”

“What guy?”

“Jared’s guy.”

His grin is pure reflex. Jared must’ve mentioned him, or he was grilled by his coworkers. “Jensen is fine,” he says. “He’s working today, right?”

“Busy in the kitchen, as you could probably guess, but I’ll tell him you’re here.” Danni brandishes a menu. “You staying to eat?”

She leaves him to decide and promises him a cup of drinkable coffee from the kitchen. All around, families and groups of friends—some in their Sunday best and others who look like they rolled out of bed and came here—enjoy everything from the Back Bay’s famed omelettes to thick grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon and tomatoes, lobster rolls on grilled, buttered buns to cups of creamy clam chowder with oyster crackers. Jensen’s stomach rumbles, reminding him to get with the program and order already.

Danni sets his coffee down with a wink. “I had to promise him you weren’t going anywhere because he looked ready to abandon Misha.”

Jensen orders banana walnut pancakes, bacon, and homestyle potatoes and settles in to people-watch until his food arrives. The staff seem comfortable with one another, used to bustling around during the rush. He can see why Jared likes working here; he hopes they treat the kid like family, too.

He didn’t wake up this morning with a plan to come here. Tahmoh left early to take care of a few things before work and Jensen found himself at loose ends. Going back to the gym would be a hassle without having Tahmoh there as a buffer and he wasn’t feeling up to any projects on his to-do list. Combined with his piercing desire to see Jared, Jensen made his way to the diner instead of pining around the house.

This rush of affection is rare. Jensen can’t think of another time in the last few years when he felt a connection worth pursuing. Part of him feared that it would diminish after he and Jared had sex without the rush of the fight in their blood. That intimacy would change what he feels for the kid.

Given where he’s sitting, the answer is no.

Jensen eats slowly and catches up on unread emails. Danni checks on him every so often, telling him that Jared’s got a break coming as soon as things calm down. Nearly an hour after he walked in, there’s no longer anyone waiting at the door and tables are beginning to clear. The kitchen door swings open and instead of Danni carrying plates or more coffee, it’s Jared rushing through, head swinging in both directions until he sees Jensen and visibly relaxes.

“Told you he wasn’t going anywhere, sugar,” Danni says, exiting the kitchen behind him. “Now go enjoy your break.”

Rather than coming around to sit beside him, Jared leads him to an empty booth at the back of the diner, affording them a little bit of privacy. He sets a brightly colored energy drink and a plate of scrambled eggs and peppers on the table. Jensen’s a little disappointed not to see his shirt on Jared today. Given the stains and smears visible on this blue tee, maybe the kid didn’t want to get it dirty during his shift.

“Didn’t realize you’d be so slammed.”

“Sundays are always crazy. I didn’t know you were coming by, sorry you had to wait.”

“It just sort of happened,” Jensen admits, keeping his tone light. “The wait wasn’t so bad. I was hungry and Danni kept me company.” Jared eyes his meal and now Jensen feels guilty. “Dude, eat. I’m the one intruding on your time.” 

Jared smiles and digs in. It’s good to be here with him, sipping his coffee and watching the kid eat a shift meal. The way they met and came together was so unexpected, so explosive, that doing something normal feels refreshing.

“Were things okay with Tahmoh last night?” Jared asks before sipping his energy drink.

“Yeah, he means well. He’s been looking out for me since we were in foster care together. And then there’s the cop thing. He wants to know everything—can’t help it.”

“I’m glad you have him.”

“Me too. We’re proof that family can be who we choose.”

Jared looks down at his plate. Jensen figures he’s thinking about his own family, the people who should have done better. There’s something in his eyes that could be hope, the idea that he might create his own family someday, and Jensen desperately wants that for him, whether he’s still in the picture or not.

“Did he say anything about the fights?”

Jensen takes a deep breath. “He doesn’t think I should go back.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m not sure,” Jensen says honestly. “I was in a rough place when I started fighting and that hasn’t changed much. I—there’s so much you don’t know about me, kid.”

Jared reaches across the table and lays his hand over Jensen’s. His gaze is earnest and clear; obviously, he doesn’t care if his coworkers see them. “I know enough.”

Jensen doesn’t know what he did to deserve this kid—karma must’ve gotten him mixed up with some decent son of a bitch—but he’s grateful their paths converged that night.

Danni finds them like that, staring at one another with their hands clasped on the table. “Sorry, sugar. Misha needs you back in the kitchen.”

“Sure, just tell him I need a minute, okay?”

She nods and gives them both a smile before turning around.

Jensen squeezes Jared’s hand. “I’ll text you later, alright?”

He walks Jared to the counter, their hands brushing as they move. Jensen can’t name the feeling in his chest; it’s as if a bubble is about to burst and it makes him want to laugh. Before he lets the kid get back to work, though, there’s one more thing he needs to ask.

“By the way,” he lowers his voice, “how’d you find out about the fights?”

Jared is close enough to lean in and respond quietly. “A couple of our morning regulars were talking about it. They like to bet on the fights. One day, I asked them to let me know when the next one was gonna be.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing.” Jensen shakes his head.

“You thought I was getting it from a shady source, didn’t you?” The kid laughs when Jensen can’t keep the guilt off his face. “I told you, Jensen, I’m careful.”

The last glimpse Jensen has is of Jared’s bright, laughing face as he heads back into the kitchen. Some of the weight he’s been carrying on his shoulders for days finally vanishes, and he makes sure to be extra generous when he settles up with Danni.

Normal was never a concept Jensen put much stock in—can’t miss what you’ve never had—but the next few days are as close as he’s ever come and he’s finding that it’s not so bad. He wakes up in the morning, goes to work, and earns himself a paycheck. At the end of the day, he looks forward to heading home.

Something changed over the weekend. This _thing_ with Jared, albeit undefined, feels like the safest part of his day. Talking to Jared, whether it’s hearing his voice or reading his texts, is a different kind of release.

Monday night, they talk mostly about work. Jensen tells Jared about a few of the guys on his crew, the ones he’s spent time with off-the-clock grabbing dinner or a drink after a rough day. About how Tahmoh helped him get the job—another in a long list of things he’s grateful for—and how his boss looks the other way when Jensen shows up with cuts and bruises that don’t come from construction work.

In turn, Jared is happy to tell him more about Misha, the owner of the Back Bay, and his reputation for picking up strays.

“You’re not a stray,” Jensen insists, holding the phone to his ear while he pulls his dinner, one of those pre-packaged fish fillets with vegetables from the grocery store, out of the oven. He only cooks fish when Tahmoh isn’t around; his brother hates it, yet he tolerates traditional New England seafood like lobster and clams, which they can’t really afford so it’s not exactly an issue.

“ _I know, but I’m saying when I went in and applied for a job, he made sure I got full-time hours. Between that and the food, I manage to get by on my own_.”

Except for relying on his mom and stepfather for a roof over his head, Jensen thinks. Still, the kid’s in better shape that he could be, certainly better than Jensen’s life would have been if he’d told the judge to send him to prison instead of the military.

On Tuesday, Jensen has a few beers to help him relax after a grueling day, needing the alcohol to loosen the knots he’s tied himself into. When that doesn’t do the trick, he crawls into bed and calls Jared even though he swore he’d try to give the kid a break from the constant communication.

“Hope I’m not bothering you.”

“ _No, I’m glad you called_ ,” Jared says. His voice is hushed, probably holed up in his room at his mom’s. “ _You okay?_ ”

“Rough day,” he admits. “Thought you might be able to distract me.”

“ _Jensen_ ,” Jared hisses. Jensen can picture the blush on his pretty cheeks. “ _I can’t, my sisters are literally in the next room_.”

“Shit, kid, that’s not what I meant.” He’s thinking about it now, though, and it races through him like a lit fuse. Jared breathless and explicit as he describes every sexy thing he’s thought about doing. Jensen swallows and forces his mind in the opposite direction. “I just figured you could tell me something about your day to distract me from mine.”

“ _Oh. Oh, right, okay_.” If Jared sounds eager and there’s a hitch in his breath, Jensen is imagining things.

Once the awkwardness vanishes, Jared tells Jensen that he’s thinking about finally starting college courses when fall rolls around.

“ _I’ve saved enough to take a few required intro courses, figure out what I want to do. If I keep working, I’ll be able to afford two or three classes each semester as long as my mom and Darren don’t kick me out or anything_.”

Jensen breathes slowly through his anger. He wondered why Jared hadn’t gone to college right out of high school. Jared says there used to be a small college fund set up, but that it was drained by his father when he disappeared. No matter how much he tries to suppress the urge, Jensen wants to find the kid’s father, drag him behind a building, and leave nothing recognizable.

“ _I wanted to become a teacher_ ,” Jared is saying, “ _but I’m pretty good with computers, and the tech schools are way more affordable._ ”

“Talk to Tahmoh about it sometime. He got his degree in cybersecurity before he applied to the police academy. He’d probably love to geek out with you over it.”

He’s careful not to keep Jared up too late since he has an early shift and, by the time Jensen hangs up, he can’t remember what was so bad about his own day. For once, he falls asleep without any trouble.

Tahmoh brings home two massive meatball subs on Wednesday. He and Jensen spend the evening in mild food comas, catching up with each other and their favorite shows at the same time.

During a break between episodes, Tahmoh says, “You should invite Jared over next time. I told you I don’t mind having him around,” and it’s the first thing Jensen tells Jared when he texts him later that night.

Thursday afternoon, Jared works half an extra shift to cover for one of his coworkers before he shows up at Jensen’s house bearing delicious gifts. He’s brought two juicy burgers, fresh fixings on the side, and a box of French fries. The first thing Jensen does is take a picture and send it to Tahmoh to make him jealous.

“You’re kind of a jerk,” Jared says with a smile.

“Tell me something I don’t know, kid,” Jensen responds gruffly before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.

The night is warm and golden so they take their food outside and eat on the back steps looking out on the unfinished yard. Jensen rambles about his plans for the small space—more trees for shade and privacy and actual patio furniture—and listens to Jared describe a few of the courses he wants to take.

When the food is gone, Jared leans against Jensen’s shoulder and tells him, “I don’t want to go home tonight.”

He’s about to ask if something happened with his mom or stepfather when Jared turns his head and kisses him. _Oh, it’s like that._

“Tell me what you want,” Jensen asks when they’re lying on his bed after making out until the sun went down.

Jared considers his options while Jensen enjoys the feeling of the kid’s shirtless chest pressed against his own, hands tracing invisible patterns up and down his back.

“I want to touch you,” is the answer given, Jared looking down with a hopeful desire that Jensen’s never seen before. He suspects he’s in for a cautious exploration topped with a handjob that leaves him satisfied before he returns the favor. He should have known the kid would amaze him yet again.

The exploration part is true, but it’s far from timid. Jared touches Jensen’s skin as if he already owns it, pressure ranging from firm to light when his fingers come upon a patch of skin that’s yellowed from old hurts or mottled and blue from more recent hits. When he arrives at the bullet wound, Jared lays his lips over the scar and Jensen nearly jackknifes off the bed both from the shock and the sensation.

Hands in Jared’s hair, Jensen urges him to keep going after he takes a detour for a hard, thorough kiss. Licking and biting down Jensen’s throat, Jared gives his pecs the same treatment, a little rougher where the skin is unmarked. Once or twice, his teeth skirt the edge of a bruise, a gasp slipping between Jensen’s clenched teeth, the slight pain and pleasure curling together to create something incredible. Jared’s eyes are hazy and dark, entirely too happy with what he’s discovering.

He strips Jensen out of his jeans and underwear, licking his lips at the sight of Jensen’s blood-heavy erection, and bending down to give his lower half the same treatment. Jared kisses the inside of his thighs, intent on finding every spot that drives Jensen crazy, up and along his hip bones and circling the base of his cock. 

Jensen wants to beg, barely managing to hold his tongue as Jared takes him higher and higher. The drop will wreck him, but it’ll be worth it. When Jared finally does slide his mouth around Jensen’s cock, he’s scarcely able to luxuriate in the heat and suction, filthy little flicks of tongue, before he comes like a shot.

He’d die of embarrassment if Jared wasn’t staring at him with come on his lips. Jensen stares back, dumbfounded, as Jared’s suddenly clumsy fingers work at his own pants, long legs contorting to pull them off and throw them on Jensen’s floor. Between those pale, perfect thighs, Jared’s cock is stiff and aching for touch.

There’s a brief wrestling match before Jensen ends up reclining at the head of the bed with Jared lying back in his arms. The position is maddening for his oversensitive cock, but it’s worth it to have Jared spread open between his legs. As good as it feels to get his hand around Jared’s cock, it’s nothing compared to what shoots through him when the kid opens his mouth.

“Did you think about this the other night? ‘Cause I did.” Jared’s chest rises and falls with each deep breath, and Jensen never wants to let him go free. “When you told me to distract you, this is what I pictured.”

“Got myself off in the shower the next morning,” Jensen admits, jacking Jared off with the same strokes and rhythm he uses on himself. “We’ll have to try it for real sometime.”

He drops his other hand between Jared’s legs and cups his balls. Teases Jared’s sack with his thumb and presses his fingers along his perineum, the same spot that had Jared bucking the last time. Jared’s orgasm rolls through his entire body and leaves him shaking in Jensen’s arms. Neither one of them attempts to move for several minutes until the sweat begins to dry on their skin and Jared can breathe normally again.

“Can I stay?” he asks, climbing off the bed and letting Jensen appreciate miles of naked skin, his own come marking his stomach.

“Wasn’t planning on kicking you out, kid.” Jensen rolls off the bed behind him. He lets Jared take his bathroom—there’s another one off Tahmoh’s room—granting each of them a few minutes of privacy.

Jensen’s not ashamed to admit they spend a good fifteen minutes cuddling afterwards, one of his hands held captive between Jared’s. He appreciates the additional weight on the other side of his mattress even after Jared nods off and rolls away in his sleep.

The next morning, he wakes up with Jared’s hand in his face, the kid huffing softly on the other pillow. He’s not used to waking up beside someone else, yet he wouldn’t mind repeating the experience with Jared as often as possible.

Later that morning, Jensen sits in his car during his break, thinking about swinging by the diner for a quick lunch since it’s close to the house they’re working on, when his phone starts to ring. Figuring it’s either his boss or Tahmoh, he answers. He should have just let it keep ringing.

“ _Mr. Ackles, I think it’s time you and I had a serious chat about my offer._ ”

“Repeat that,” Tahmoh orders. “Slowly.”

“Ellis invited me to check out one of his private events tomorrow night.”

Tahmoh groans. “Shit, I was hoping I heard you wrong.”

They’re standing in the middle of the kitchen, dirty dishes left in the sink. Jensen considered not telling his brother about Ellis’ call, but he’s spent the last few hours with his mind spinning in circles and needs his brother’s support.

“Ellis told me that he wanted me to see what he was offering. Said I wouldn’t be disappointed.”

“Did he tell you where?”

Jensen shakes his head. “Outside the city, that’s all he said. I won’t get directions until tomorrow.”

Tahmoh’s knuckles are white where he’s gripping the counter. “You can’t go.”

“Didn’t seem like he was giving me a choice, Moh.”

“I don’t care, Jen.” Tahmoh steps closer and drops his hand on the back of Jensen’s neck. “I don’t want you connected to any of this shit, okay? The fights are bad enough.”

“I get it, you’re a cop.”

Tahmoh sighs in frustration and lets him go. “This isn’t because I’m a cop. You’re my family and this guy’s dangerous!”

“How dangerous?” Jensen’s instincts are sharp, but they don’t give specifics.

Tahmoh moves to the sink and starts rinsing plates. Jensen’s familiar with his brother’s urge to keep his hands busy when he’s upset or agitated. In tonight’s case, he’s both.

“After what you told me last weekend, I looked into Ellis. No headlines, no major busts, but there have been a lot of rumors that he’s eliminating the competition, especially when it comes to moving illegal prescription drugs. He’s keeping a low profile, and he might not be a major player yet, but he’s definitely headed in that direction. I checked with a few of my CIs and asked Berry to do the same thing.”

“You told your partner about this?”

“I trust her, Jen, and I left out the fact that you were involved. Give me some credit.” Tahmoh turns back to the sink. “Anyway, you name it—drugs, prostitution, gambling—there are whispers that Ellis has his hands in all of it. Only a matter of time before he starts making serious moves, if he hasn’t already. After all,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, “it seems like he’s recruiting.”

The idea turns Jensen’s stomach. He can’t get his earlier conversation with Ellis out of his head, listening to him talk about opportunities and benefits like Jensen was being goddamn headhunted.

He replays his conversation with Ellis in his mind.

“Would I have to fight?” Jensen had asked, sitting motionless in his car and listening to Ellis’ careful pitch with his cell phone pressed to his ear.

“ _Nonsense_ ,” Ellis had told him, “ _you’d be there as one of my personal guests, with all the accompanying perks. I can guarantee you’ve never seen anything like it._ ”

“And if I can’t make it tomorrow night?”

A pause, then, “ _I’d encourage you to clear your schedule, Mr. Ackles. I don’t extend invitations like this on a whim, but I see something in you, something valuable, and I’m not in the habit of letting go of what’s valuable. Is there anything you consider particularly valuable, Mr. Ackles?_ ”

Jensen had gripped his phone so tight, he heard the casing crack. Two faces appeared in his mind at Ellis’ veiled threat.

“ _Think about how you’d feel if you lost it. Now, will I see you tomorrow night?_ ”

He’d hung up and left Jensen with no room to say no.

Now, looking across the kitchen at his brother’s rigid back, Jensen recognizes that everything—the fights, the money, the offers—all led to this moment. He never had a choice but to accept Ellis’ invitation. Tahmoh is just going to have to deal with that.

For Jensen, it’s throwing more fuel on the fire.

Saturday is shit from the moment Jensen wakes up.

There are several missed texts on his phone from Jared asking if he wants to hang out since they both have the day off and one voicemail of Jared complaining that Darren is forcing him to help with a project at the house.

“ _It’s like he doesn’t think I have a life, or plans of my own. Like my free time belongs to him just because I’m living under his roof, even when I’m basically supporting myself._ ”

Jensen listens to the kid’s sigh, tinny and one dimensional on the recording.

“ _Anyway, maybe I could come over tonight, you know, if you want. I’ll let you know when I’m done. Text me later, okay?_ ”

There’s no way he’s going to tell Jared where he’s planning to be tonight. Instead, he texts that he has plans he can’t get out of and reassures the kid he’ll swing by the diner on Sunday.

It’s shitty, lying to the kid, but there’s no way in hell he’s letting Jared anywhere near the party. The shame of keeping it from him dogs Jensen throughout the morning and into the afternoon as the hours drag on. Tahmoh tries talking to him, urging him not to go. Even he can’t come up with a way for Jensen to get out of the invitation without Ellis finding a way to retaliate. Jensen swears he’ll be okay—he can handle Tom Ellis and his machinations—and Tahmoh reminds him that he’ll only be a phone call away.

After forcing himself to eat a tasteless dinner, Jensen gets dressed. No one cares what he looks like at a fight, but this is different. He’s pulling on armor: his darkest jeans, a black button down rolled up over his forearms, and his cleanest pair of boots. He chooses not to shave, leaving five days of scruff, and covers his wrists with his watch and a thick leather bracelet Tahmoh bought for his last birthday. It’s a look that says _don’t fuck with me_.

At eight, Jensen receives a text with a set of directions. Tahmoh disappeared a few hours ago, so the house is empty when Jensen locks the door. This isn’t just another night of basement brawls, and Jensen isn’t sure what to expect when he arrives. The house the directions bring him to is part of a world he’s never stepped foot in before.

Situated in a wealthy Boston suburb, the sprawling mansion sits at the end of a long driveway lined with full maple trees and tall pines. Leaving his car on the main road, Jensen makes his way up the drive on foot after giving his name to two armed, burly men stationed outside the gate. The front door is opened for him by another armed guard whose ugly mug appears vaguely familiar, and Jensen crosses into an unfamiliar reality.

Warm light from sparkling fixtures instead of buzzing neon. Trays of champagne and a suited bartender pouring drinks in the corner of a large room, far from the cheap beer and bottom shelf liquor in plastic cups that Jensen’s used to seeing. Men and women in upscale party attire, the kind Jensen only sees in magazines, dressed to stand out rather than blend anonymously with the rest of the beleaguered crowd.

Jensen recognizes a handful of people who likely work for Ellis, and when he steps into the next room, he’s quickly spotted by the man himself. Ellis breaks away from a group of admirers to welcome him. Even with all of the glitz and glamor surrounding them, menace trails Tom Ellis’ bespoke-suited silhouette like a dark cloud.

“There’s the man of the hour!” Ellis shouts it with fervor, though Jensen doubts he rates that highly. He notices Jensen’s empty hands. “We must get you a drink!”

A few minutes later, Jensen’s holding a glass of bourbon he’d never be able to afford at a bar and being led around the room while Ellis sings his praises. The majority of people he meets don’t spare him a second glance, concerned with their own business and eager for a slice of Ellis’ attention. Jensen is more comfortable being ignored than being devoured by covetous stares.

“A man who truly knows how to win a crowd,” Ellis regales a gathered group with the story of Jensen’s most recent fight. “I knew he was special the first time I saw him.”

“Will we see him fight tonight?” asks a woman in an accent Jensen is hopeless at placing beyond _not from around here_. She’s petite, dripping in jewels worth more than his entire existence, and staring with blatant hunger.

“Mr. Ackles is here as my guest, but I’ll do my best to convince him.” Ellis winks, and Jensen swallows enough bourbon to wash away the sickening feeling. Unprompted, a passing waiter replaces his empty glass with a fresh drink.

Eventually, Ellis tires of the conversation and waves the circle of devotees away.

“What do you think?” he asks Jensen. “Quite a bit different from what you’re used to.”

Jensen barely manages to keep the disgust out of his expression. “We both know I don’t really belong here.”

“Do we?” Ellis throws him a sharp grin. “I think you could feel very at home here if you’d only open yourself up to the opportunities in front of you. Now, let me show you to the real action.”

They wind through the mansion, debauchery around every corner. Jensen passes more than one high-stakes poker game—he hopes it’s just money changing hands—and rooms where men and women are doing cocaine off crystal trays. Jensen doesn’t have to search long to find other drugs being used, everything from oxy to weed, and if he had doubts about Ellis trying to move himself up in the drug trade, he can lay them to rest tonight.

The _real action_ is taking place in a spacious lower level of the house where well-dressed attendees are watching two men fight in a regulation eight-sided ring. Ellis steps back and allows the entire scene to sink in. It strikes Jensen as more of an elaborate performance than a brawl, not nearly as much urgency as the underground fights. Neither of the men look familiar, though they both display superior skills. The expressions on the faces around Jensen, however, those he recognizes. He’s seen that base hunger, the thirst for violence, many times before.

They may not be in a run-down warehouse anymore, but this satisfies the same urges.

“You see? A higher caliber of competition, a bigger purse, and no shortage of _fans_.”

“Sounds like a sweet deal.” Jensen tries not to choke on the words. “But all I really need is a decent fight.”

It’s meant as a brush-off. Ellis appears more interested than ever.

“Ah yes, such a simple idea. A decent fight, a way to let off some steam.”

“Something like that.”

The crowd cheers at the action in the ring, happy and drunk, distracting both of them. Ellis is in demand here as well, entertaining a parade of suited men with expensive watches and women on their arms. Jensen splits his attention between Ellis and the fight wondering, just for a moment, if he could do it. If he could silence his conscience for the night and earn himself one hell of a paycheck. Enough to help Tahmoh with the house or help Jared move out of his stepdad’s place. He wonders if it’s worth laying waste to his own peace of mind in order to make life easier for the two people he cares about most.

His speculation is cut short when Ellis turns back to him.

“I’ve known men like you, Mr. Ackles,” he says, oblivious to anyone who might overhear. This is his world, after all. “You hide it with that rugged charm and blue collar simplicity, but we both know there’s a monster underneath, one that feeds on your rage.” He nods towards the fight, a gleam in his dark eyes. “It feels good to let it out, doesn’t it?”

Jensen wants to drop everything and run. It’s as if Ellis has the power to reach in and pull out his secrets; he’s even more dangerous than Jensen thought. He’s spared the task of responding when Ellis looks down at his phone and smiles, though there’s nothing friendly in the expression.

“Seems I have other business to attend to. Good help is _so_ hard to find,” he sighs dramatically. “Please, enjoy my hospitality for the rest of the night—whatever you want—and if you do want in on the action, just say the word.”

With that, he walks away, leaving Jensen in a maelstrom. Jensen turns and heads in the opposite direction, needing to be as far from the fight as possible. The room he ends up in doesn’t make him feel any better. Here, instead of enjoying the spectacle of a mixed martial arts fight, people are enjoying each other. Scantily-dressed women perched on paunchy laps, gorgeous young men in tight jeans serving drinks or serving...other needs. A few of the participants glance up when Jensen walks in, and he’s treated to coy smiles and come hither stares. They probably think he’s got money like the rest of the guests tonight.

“Well, shit! Didn’t expect to see you here, Ackles!”

Just when Jensen thought his night couldn’t get any fucking worse, Stephen Amell makes his way across the room, ditching the young hazy-eyed woman who had been entertaining him. His clothes are an awkward fit on his muscled frame, but Jensen assumes they were expensive.

“You fighting?”

“Just checking things out.”

“Pretty awesome, right?” Amell’s eyes are wild, no doubt because he’s helped himself to a party favor or two. He steps closer and leans in, as if the two of them are buddies sharing a secret. “Fighters get whatever they want at the end of the night, you know. Like, _anything_.”

His enthusiasm for the idea turns Jensen’s stomach. “Ellis mentioned there were perks.”

“I mean, I know you’ve got that pretty boy who gives it up for you in those dirty basements, but trust me, you can get something a hell of a lot better around here.”

There’s a high pitched ringing in Jensen’s ears. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until he has to clench his fists to make it stop. Amell is either too high to notice or he doesn’t care, because he keeps running his mouth.

“Can’t blame you though. Kid looked like he’d enjoy it rough. Thought about trying him out for myself before you showed up.”

Overseas, Jensen had taken lives in the line of duty and never lost a night’s sleep over it. He’s certainly no stranger to the decimation his rage can unleash, but that’s always felt like a necessary burden. Despite all of that, Jensen has never wanted to hurt someone so much in his life. Amell is grinning like nothing is wrong, slapping Jensen on the shoulder before returning to his female companion.

Jensen is frozen in place. This kind of anger should burn everything else away, yet he’s ice cold. It’s a totally foreign sensation, one that stops his blood, and that’s when he understands. This is pure hatred, the kind that obliterates whatever stands in its path. It’s worse than the fire, more painful than the burn.

He has to get out of here.

The night is warm and humid, yet Jensen is shivering when he storms out of the house. It plagues him all the way to his car. Even though it’s close to midnight, Jensen is absolutely sure of one thing.

He can’t go home like this.

Jensen pulls up just before 2 a.m. expecting to find the house dark and empty. Instead, the kitchen lights spill warmly through the front window onto the lawn. The porch light beside the door is shining in direct contrast to Jensen’s mood. None of that is as surprising as the sight of a familiar old truck parked out front.

He considers driving away, heading back to the bar where he spent the better part of the last two hours too angry to drink heavily while he waited out the chill in his bloodstream, but he’d already texted Tahmoh to reassure him that he was on his way home. His brother hadn’t mentioned an ambush.

If it wasn’t for the shitty circumstances, the scene Jensen walks in on would be nice and welcoming.

There’s a car chase playing out on the muted flat screen television, while Tahmoh and Jared are sitting at opposite ends of the large couch, a mug of coffee in Tahmoh’s hand and a glass of water sitting on the table in front of where Jared’s got his knees pulled up on the cushion. He’s wearing his soft, old jeans, the pair that Jensen is afraid will fall apart in his hands, and another long sleeved t-shirt that looks like it came from a pile in Jensen’s room. The kid’s expression is tough to read beyond obvious exhaustion. Tahmoh is much easier to decipher; the man can’t hide his concern.

“What’s this?” he asks, pocketing his keys.

“I told you I’d wait up,” Tahmoh answers.

Jensen eyes the kid. “And what about you?”

“I came to hang out with Tahmoh.” Jensen throws his brother an accusing glance. Tahmoh shrugs innocently. “He said you were gonna be out for a while, but that you wouldn’t mind.”

Jensen doesn’t want to have either of these conversations right now. Dissecting Ellis’ party with Tahmoh, or working out why Jared felt he couldn’t spend tonight at home. He’s afraid of the phantom chill he can’t shake, although the worst of the cold is gone thanks to the much cheaper bourbon he’d downed at the North End dive bar.

“Sorry I kept you waiting. I had to…” Jensen finds it difficult to take a deep breath. “I needed to stay out a little longer, alright?”

Tahmoh shifts. “Jen—”

Whatever he’s going to say is interrupted by Jared yawning loudly, standing up and stretching his back theatrically. “I’ve gotta be up for my shift in a few hours,” he says. “Mind if I crash in your room?”

Jensen sinks even lower. “Sure, kid. I’ll be in soon, okay?”

He and Tahmoh each give Jared a smile as he picks up his phone and shuffles towards Jensen’s bedroom. Drained of the energy to put up a fight, Jensen sighs and heads for the kitchen, fully aware of Tahmoh following him.

“Do I even want to know what happened tonight?”

“Probably not,” Jensen grumbles, thinking about grabbing a beer when he looks in the fridge and settling on one of those flavored sparkling waters Tahmoh insists on buying. “It was a fuckin’ nightmare, Moh, I swear.”

“But you’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, I just...I can’t go to another party like that.”

Tahmoh lets out a long exhale. “Good. Just the idea of you being there had me in knots all night.”

“How long’s the kid been here?”

“He called me around ten saying you hadn’t responded to any of his texts. Seemed a little shaky, so I told him he was welcome to chill here until you showed up.”

“Did you tell him where I was?”

Tahmoh shakes his head. “Leaving that up to you, brother. Might want to wait, though. He seemed kind of beat when he got here. I told him he could crash on your bed, but we ended up talking. Jared’s got a good head on his shoulders, God only knows what he sees in you.”

After the day he’s had, Jensen’s grateful that Tahmoh can make him smile.

“Seriously though, I get it.”

“Get what?” Jensen asks before draining the rest of the can.

“What you see in him,” Tahmoh admits. “After the way you met, I figured it would fizzle out. Now I get why it hasn’t.”

The emotions rising up in Jensen’s chest are overwhelming after what he’s been through tonight, and he doesn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Tahmoh knows not to press.

“Better go see him before he falls asleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

Jensen reaches out and pulls Tahmoh into a two-armed hug, hoping it conveys what he’s unable to say. Tahmoh squeezes once before letting him go.

Opening his door quietly, Jensen finds Jared lying on top of the covers playing on his phone. He sets it aside when he sees Jensen and fixes him with that same sleepy, indecipherable expression.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“It’s fine,” Jared tells him, sitting up. He’s still wearing Jensen’s shirt, having swapped his jeans for a pair of black lounge pants. “I like Tahmoh.”

“Yeah? You guys bond over what a jerk I am?”

Jared smiles softly. “Something like that.”

Jensen cleans himself up, washing his face and neck to erase the cologne and perfume sticking to his skin—he’d walked through clouds of it at the party—and stripping out of his clothes before pulling on a pair of jersey-knit shorts.

When he comes out, Jared’s eyelids are drooping. Together, they push back the covers and make themselves comfortable, Jared rolling into Jensen’s space and placing warm hands on his bare chest. Jensen’s apprehensive—he could never forgive himself if he lashed out or hurt Jared—but the kid’s presence is soothing, similar to what he feels around Tahmoh. Jensen tries to let it all go and enjoy having Jared here with him.

Without prompting, Jared begins to talk. “Tahmoh brought out some of his old coursebooks when I told him I was interested in tech college. We went online to check out some of the programs and he gave me advice on where to start with classes.”

His voice is low; its texture calms Jensen further. The effect is more pronounced than it’s ever been over the phone.

A few minutes later, Jared trails off and goes silent. He falls asleep with Jensen’s arm around him. Being able to hold Jared like this, knowing that he’s safe, kindles a different kind of burn.

Tonight, Jensen doesn’t let him roll away.

Jared is gone when Jensen wakes up late on Sunday morning. Deprived once again of the chance to wake up beside Jared, Jensen is pretty damn grumpy when he stumbles out of bed. Jared had an early shift at the diner, and Jensen was so tired and emotionally wrecked, he would have slept through a tank rolling through the house.

Tahmoh isn’t there, either. His car is in the driveway, meaning he’s out on one of his runs. Jensen can’t blame him, and he’s grateful to have the house to himself for a little while to get his head on straight. He rules out driving to the diner for something to eat, considering he’s the reason Jared only slept for a few hours and the Back Bay will be slammed for a while yet. Figures he owes it to the kid _not_ to bother him.

Jensen’s sprawled out on the couch half-asleep when Tahmoh returns flushed and sweaty from his run.

“You look like something a cat threw up,” Tahmoh says, standing over Jensen with a glass of water in his hand.

“And I can smell you from here.”

“I thought you liked my musk.”

“For the love of God, please shower,” Jensen mutters. “You’re making my hangover worse.”

Tahmoh’s grin falters. “You’ll be here when I get out?”

“Does it look like I’m capable of going anywhere?”

Half an hour later, Tahmoh is back smelling like aloe and cucumber instead of a locker room floor. By then, Jensen is sitting up on the couch. He’s already poured another cup of coffee and eaten a bagel to fortify himself.

“I caught Jared heading out this morning.” It’s not exactly where Jensen expected Tahmoh to begin. “He said you were snoring when he left.”

“You’re spending a lot of one-on-one time with him. Should I be jealous?” Jensen is only half-joking. He knows it’s his own fault.

“I had trouble sleeping,” Tahmoh explains. “I heard him in the kitchen getting water, so I got up to say goodbye.” He pauses, and Jensen figures this is the point where they get serious. “He’s worried about you.”

Jensen huffs. “He shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Nothing happened.”

Tahmoh claims the other end of the couch. “That’s not what I saw last night.”

“Yeah? What’d you see, _Detective_?” Jensen snaps, glancing pointedly down at the notebook in Tahmoh’s hand. It’s meant to bait, but the only outward sign that Jensen’s getting to him is the hard clench of his jaw.

“I saw a guy working hard to hold his shit together. A guy who’s finally starting to see what he’s up against.”

Last night’s party opened Jensen’s eyes to the reality of Tom Ellis and his dealings. It was one thing to speculate about all of his illegal activities and another to see them playing out in front of him.

“I’m handling it,” Jensen deflects, but Tahmoh sees right through him.

“How the hell are you handling it? If anything, you’re being dragged deeper into this shit, all while you expect me to watch and do nothing.”

“I don’t want to drag you in with me. You shouldn’t be involved.”

“I’m already involved,” Tahmoh says, softening his tone. “We’re family, Jen, Your crap is my crap, remember? That’s what we promised each other when we got these.” He places his hand on Jensen’s upper arm where the inked skin bears his name.

His touch breaks the dam in Jensen’s mind. He tells Tahmoh what he remembers while his brother makes notes: where the party was held, who he recognized from the underground fight circuit, how much gambling he saw when he passed from room to room. He leaves out the brief period of time when he considered offering himself up as a fighter for the money—Tahmoh would go nuclear on him—though he does recount the drugs being passed around and the escorts that Ellis told him _came with the invitation._

“I didn’t think there were drugs at your fights,” Tahmoh says, looking up.

“There aren’t,” Jensen clarifies, “none that I’ve noticed, anyway. Probably because Ellis doesn’t know everyone coming and going, it’s all word of mouth. Last night seemed like it was by-invite only. But he definitely uses the fights as a recruiting ground. I thought I recognized one of his security guards.”

Tahmoh asks a few questions about the guests, which Jensen does his best to answer—people weren’t exactly offering their names—before shutting his notebook and slumping against the back of the couch. The air is heavy, but he’s relieved to get it off his chest.

They mutually agree to leave the subject alone for awhile, decompressing with a few rounds of video games followed by a movie. It’s been too long since they’ve chilled out on a lazy weekend afternoon. Eventually, Tahmoh has to get up and dress for dinner.

“I know Lisa’s trying to set me up with one of her friends,” he says when he comes out of his room wearing nice jeans and a clean, fitted shirt, talking about his partner on the force, Detective Berry, “but she’s also buying dinner. If you want me to stay home, I can call her.”

“Nah, enjoy your blind date.” Jensen grabs his phone and reads the text that just arrived. “Jared’s coming over again.”

Tahmoh grins, pulling on a light jacket. “You know, I’m starting to get used to having him around.”

Jensen is, too. “What do I tell him?”

“You tell him what he needs to know,” Tahmoh says. “Maybe keep it low-key tonight. Relax, play more video games. You both deserve an easy night.”

Jensen takes a deep breath as Tahmoh heads out. Low-key. Relaxed. Easy. He can totally do this.

“Did you run out of your own shirts?” Jensen asks with a smile when Jared walks in wearing the henley he’d taken from Jensen’s laundry the first time he spent the night. The fabric smells like Jared now, and Jensen considers stealing it back. That, or drag Jared into his bedroom and get that smell all over his sheets.

Right. _Relaxed_.

Jared drops his bag in Jensen’s room while he checks the state of their refrigerator, which turns out to be dismal. Long arms wrap around him from behind, Jared’s chest pressed against his back.

“We should probably order something.”

“If that’s what you want,” Jared says, although his proximity is providing all sorts of alternatives. 

Jensen turns around in Jared’s arms and leans back against the counter. In this position, Jared is close enough to kiss, already leaning in, and Jensen is happy to oblige. Kissing is definitely relaxing, at least up until the point when Jared’s hips begin to rock back and forth.

“I thought we could take it easy tonight,” Jensen attempts when he regains his breath.

Jared grins and pushes forward. “You feel pretty easy to me.”

No arguing with that. Jensen’s body has taken notice and is fully on board with the change in proceedings. He melts slowly, his good intentions for the evening pushed to the back of his mind as Jared uses those desperate eyes and that faux-innocent smile as weapons against Jensen’s resolve.

When Jared grabs him by the hand and pulls him towards the bedroom, Jensen goes happily. Spending the rest of Sunday evening in bed—with a brief interlude for ordering and eating food from Jensen’s favorite Thai place—sounds pretty low-key to him.

“Hey, Jensen. Coffee?”

“Only if it’s from the secret stash,” Jensen tells Danneel as he takes his preferred seat at the end of the counter.

“Sure thing,” she says with a wink. “I’ll let Jared know you’re here.”

The Back Bay Diner is fairly empty at this time in the afternoon. Only three of the booths are occupied and two women are chatting over milkshakes at the other end of the counter. Jensen had a short work day, skipping lunch so he could make it to the diner in time for Jared to wrap up his shift.

Danni returns with a steaming mug. “Here you go. Jared’s helping Misha rearrange equipment on the line, which shouldn’t take too long. Misha bribed him into staying late with a paid day off next week.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jensen says, “but I will take one of those spicy chicken melts on your specials board in the meantime.”

It’s been a week and a half since the Sunday Jensen spent recovering from the wreckage of Ellis’ party, and his days have fallen into an unusual yet comfortable holding pattern. More glimpses of that _normal life_ ; Jensen is starting to get a taste for it.

The first few days, Jensen had left his phone at home while he worked, afraid that if it rang, it would be Ellis on the other end. Jared had gone back to his mom and stepdad’s house after spending Sunday night with Jensen, who finally had the pleasure of waking up next to Jared in all his bleary-eyed, bed-headed glory, even if it was the crack of dawn and they both had to get ready for work.

He knows it’s crazy, but he wouldn’t mind having Jared at the house all the time. Being around each other feels natural. It’s Tahmoh’s house, too, and Jensen can’t spring something like that on him no matter how well the two of them get along. Doesn’t stop Jensen from picturing what it would be like.

Danni brings out his lunch and tops off his coffee before circling around to her other customers. Jensen’s found himself at the diner several times over the last ten days. It’s a good place to wind down after work and catch up with Jared if he’s working an afternoon shift, or eat lunch with the kid during his break. Last week when he stopped in for lunch, he finally met the owner Misha Collins. The man was as zealous and eccentric as Jared described, and Jensen could see why Jared liked having him as a boss. When Misha shook his hand, Jensen felt a testing squeeze, a silent warning that he was looking out for Jared first and foremost.

Apparently Misha isn’t the only one.

“I had my doubts when you started coming around.”

Jensen looks up from his phone. “Excuse me?”

Across from him, Danni is leaning on the counter, playing with a ring on her finger. Jensen notices that the diner’s empty except for the two of them and a couple seated at the far booth.

“Jared is a sweet kid. He’s like a giant, little brother,” she says. If Jensen is being honest with himself, he expected this conversation with Danni weeks ago. “I want to make sure he’s okay, because I know he’s not getting that from home. You know Misha and I have never met his family?”

“Then we have something else in common.”

“I worried about him going to those fights. Yeah, I know all about those,” she adds when Jensen opens his mouth to protest. “He talked about you long before you showed up.”

Considering what happened the first couple of times, Jensen hopes Jared hadn’t gone into too much detail.

“Guess he finally found his champion.”

Jensen coughs. “His what, now?”

Danni’s watching him with a fond expression. “From those books he likes reading. Medieval fantasy or history—he and Misha are always talking about them.” She waves off the explanation as if it’s nothing. To Jensen, it’s everything. “From the moment you first came in and sat down, it was clear you were ten times better than that other guy who hung around.”

“What other guy?”

“Never caught his name,” Danni says, oblivious to the way Jensen’s eyes are blazing. “Big guy, really short blond hair and crazy eyes. Didn’t like taking no for an answer.”

“He came here to see Jared?” Jensen tamps down on his rage.

“Came in here a couple of times, but Jared didn’t seem interested in anything the guy had to say. Next time it happened, Misha asked him to leave. You came around not long after that, which worried us at first, but we can tell Jared really likes you.”

He barely hears her over the roar in his ears. Jensen is afraid he’s going to spontaneously combust until Jared appears on his side of the counter and pushes everything away with a simple touch. The kid looks tired, but happy to see Jensen.

“Hey, ready to go?” Jared asks carefully as if he knows something is off. “If I stay too long, Misha’s gonna drag me into another project.”

Jensen leaves money for Danni and follows Jared out to their cars. The plan was to go back to the house and let Jared relax while Jensen plants two small saplings he and Tahmoh bought at a nursery sale over the weekend. Alone in his car, Jensen leads Jared’s truck on the short trip home, missing the kid’s voice in his ear.

It’s not until they’re standing on the back patio under the afternoon sun that Jensen brings up what Danni told him. Tact is out of the question.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Amell?”

“That other fighter?” Jared asks, frowning. “Nothing to tell.”

“Danneel told me he showed up at the diner to see you.” 

Jensen has been going over Stephen Amell’s taunts from the beginning. Some were too pointed to be random barbs. He suspects now that Amell is the one who told Tom Ellis about his relationship with Jared, not the other way around. The idea that Amell knew Jared first sickens him in ways that make him feel ashamed and angry at the same time.

Jared scoffs. “That asshole _followed_ me to work one day and tried to talk to me.”

“You met him at the fights.”

“He hit on me and tried to convince me to go home with him,” Jared says, pulling Jensen down to sit on the steps, never letting go of Jensen’s hand.

Jensen hesitates. “You never...went to him like you did with me?”

“Did I ever approach the raging psycho who likes hurting people and has issues with the word ‘no’? Come on, Jensen,” he chides softly, neither in anger or shame. “I knew Amell was a creep from the beginning and I stayed away. When he came to the diner, I was furious and a little scared, so I let Misha send him away when he wouldn’t take a hint.”

The pressure eases in Jensen’s chest.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” Jared admits. “I know he pisses you off, but I didn’t want you to do anything. He’s not worth it.”

They sit quietly for a time, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood get louder as kids start coming home from school. Jared plays with Jensen’s hand, tickling between his fingers and stroking the sensitive underside of his wrist.

“Danni mentioned that you went to the fights looking for someone to protect you.”

He hears a frustrated little whine from Jared’s chest. “That’s not—it isn’t what you’re thinking.”

Jensen isn’t thinking anything in particular apart from noticing Jared’s flushed cheeks.

“I liked watching the fights. Seeing people step into the ring, proving themselves. I knew I could never get in there.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Jensen says, squeezing Jared’s hand for emphasis.

“I almost stopped going, you know. After that asshole kept hitting on me.”

Jensen hates the thought that he came so close to never meeting the kid. “Why didn’t you stop?”

The kid looks up. “I saw you.”

Against a statement like that, Jensen never stood a chance.

The trees don’t get planted. Jared and Jensen are too busy taking each other apart in the peaceful comfort of Jensen’s bedroom while the shadows grow long around them.

With no fears or emergencies distracting them, they’ve ventured further over the last week and a half. Jensen delved into those sensitive areas he’d discovered all over Jared’s body and, in return, he welcomed everything Jared wanted to try out on him. To his profound relief, it has revealed a score of overlapping desires.

Right now, Jensen is enjoying the rapturous heat of Jared’s mouth combined with the spine-melting pleasure of the kid’s lubed fingers carefully fucking in and out. The slow thrusts drive him mad. Jensen see-saws between the pressure and stretch in his ass and the wet, teasing friction of that clever tongue around his cock.

It’s difficult to fathom that Jared’s previous experience was limited to locker room handjobs in high school and a couple of discreet blowjobs. Not when the shape of his mouth is pure artistry and he’s thrown himself into learning the many ways he can devastate Jensen. They’re working their way up to fucking, and Jensen has no doubt the kid will prove to be a natural at that, too. He doesn’t care how it happens—Jensen’s mood flips depending on the dynamic—realizing he’s just as eager to feel Jared’s cock in his ass as he is to have Jared underneath him, groaning and begging to be fucked. Jensen can’t keep those thoughts off his tongue.

“Gonna fuck me soon?” He taunts, screwing himself on Jared’s fingers so there is no mistaking his meaning. “I know you like getting me open, seeing me stretch around your fingers. Do you think about getting that pretty cock in me?”

Jared’s tongue vibrates as he fails to contain a frustrated moan, clearly unhappy that he’s unable to answer with his mouth full.

“Good, ‘cause I do.” Jensen’s is riding the edge. “I think about you going crazy once you get inside me, fuck me hard ‘cause you can’t stop.”

The kid rips his mouth away. “Fuck, Jensen. You can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

A quick glance down is all Jensen need to work it out. Jared has been rubbing himself off against the sheets, his dick flushed red from the friction. Based on the state he’s in, he’s as close to getting off as Jensen.

“Fuck, kid, that’s hot,” Jensen tells him, encouraging Jared to keep thrusting with his fingers. “Add another one, yeah, just like that.” He hisses as his body is forced to accommodate more.

Jared’s a mess, and it’s beautiful. Sweaty and pink from his cheeks down past his nipples, lips wet and rubbed raw from sucking Jensen off, topped with those gorgeous, wild eyes that made Jensen fall for him in the first place. His fingers strike gold, and Jensen’s hips buck off the bed.

Mercifully, the kid sinks back down over his cock, sucking with purpose and no longer showing off the clever skills he’s learned. Jensen gives it up in a matter of moments, dragging Jared up by the back of his neck seconds before coming all over the kid’s stomach. Neither one of them gives a thought to the mess—Jensen needs to change the sheets anyway. He kisses Jared through his orgasm and the aftershocks, his body clenching down on Jared’s fingers while imagining they’re Jared’s cock.

Instead of leaving Jared to rut against his hip, Jensen offers a tight, sweaty grip for him to fuck. He can’t resist fanning the flame, his free hand holding Jared close.

“Next time, you’re gonna fuck me,” Jensen vows, watching the heat explode in Jared’s eyes. “Slide this cock right in and use me.”

Jared’s voice is weak, yet full of awe when he asks, “You want to be my first?”

Fuck, Jensen can’t handle how hot that sounds. “Your first, last, and everything in between,” he swears, realizing that he means every word. He smothers his shock by kissing Jared hard as the kid is coming apart on top of him.

Tahmoh arrives with two bags of groceries and declares, “For once, we’re going to cook.”

He rouses Jensen from where he’s dozing on the couch with Jared reading at the other end. That was as far as they made it after cleaning themselves up. Jensen hasn’t brought up what he said, or the heavy emotions behind it, but Jared has remained within touching distance ever since, treating Jensen to warm, lingering glances.

Tahmoh ropes Jensen into throwing together a hearty pasta sauce while Jared offers to chop vegetables for a salad. The kitchen is too small for all three of them yet the forced proximity is oddly comfortable. 

“Should I move this stuff off the table?” Jared asks, waving at Tahmoh’s pile of folders and paperwork.

“Sure,” Tahmoh says as he tests the pasta, “just toss it on the coffee table or something.”

Jensen is carrying the pot of finished sauce over to the table when he notices Jared standing motionless next to the coffee table, a photo in his hand.

“Something wrong, kid?”

Tahmoh steps up behind him, sees what Jared is holding, and curses.

“ _Shit_.” He drops the bowl of cooked spaghetti on the cleared table and rushes to Jared’s side. “I forgot that was in there. Just some work I brought home with me, don’t worry about it, alright?”

Abandoning the sauce, Jensen approaches to get a closer look at the photo as Tahmoh gently takes it out of Jared’s hand. He knows what crime scene photos look like, but it takes a few seconds for his brain to process the grisly details.

Jared’s voice is a timid whisper. “He’s dead?”

Jensen cuts in before Tahmoh can confirm the obvious. “Let’s just have dinner and pretend you never saw that, okay?”

Tahmoh nods and slides the photo into a folder, effectively ending the discussion. Though the food is delicious and filling, dinner is a subdued affair with Tahmoh and Jared carrying the conversation while Jensen has a hard time keeping the photo out of his head. Cleaning up and putting away the leftovers provides a distraction, until Jared circles back to the folder on the coffee table.

“Hey, you alright?” Jensen asks, laying his hand on the kid’s shoulder, while Tahmoh listens from the kitchen.

“I can’t stop thinking about the photo.”

“Me neither. Stuff like that, it’s hard to unsee. Maybe we should watch a movie, or kick Tahmoh’s ass at Fortnite.”

“Thanks, but…” Jared hesitates, wringing his hands nervously. “The guy in the photo, he was murdered, right?”

Tahmoh steps into the room. “I’m so sorry, Jared. I never meant for you to see that. My unit caught the case a few days ago.”

“Don’t bring shit like that home, man.”

“Actually,” Tahmoh addresses Jensen, “I was hoping you might recognize him.”

Jensen is about to scoff and tell his brother that he’s crazy when Jared speaks up.

“Because he fought in the underground club, too?”

Everything stops. Jensen and Tahmoh stare at the kid in dumbfounded silence before the room descends into chaos.

“How the hell do you know that?” Jensen blurts out at the same time Tahmoh asks, “Are you sure?” 

Jared nods. “I haven’t seen him in a long time, but I’m pretty sure.”

“How long has it been?”

“Jesus, Moh.” Jensen cuts off the line of questioning. “What the hell?”

“If Jared knows something—”

“I don’t care! The guy was obviously _murdered_.” There are flames licking at the edge of Jensen’s mind. A few hours ago, he was filled with the bright terror that came with realizing the depth of his need for Jared, and now it’s all gone dark with a different kind of fear. “You shouldn’t even be talking to Jared about this.”

Jared takes Jensen’s hand, his touch cool and grounding. “If there’s a way I can help, I want to do it.”

“It might be nothing,” Tahmoh insists, “but I’ll take any lead at this point and I don’t have to tell _anyone_ where it came from.”

As volatile as Jensen feels, he’s powerless against the two of them. Jared is earnest while Tahmoh’s gaze is pleading.

“Fine,” he concedes through gritted teeth. “But his name stays out of your files, alright?”

“I swear, I won’t even tell Berry.”

The promise doesn’t make Jensen feel any better. He lets Jared pull him down on the couch, determined to stop Tahmoh if he pushes too hard, no matter how willing Jared is to answer questions.

“You’re sure he was one of the fighters?”

Jared takes a deep breath. “Definitely. He was pretty good, too. He was always in one of the last fights.”

Jensen tries to match the gray, lifeless face from the crime scene photo to any of the men he’s faced in the ring. Even under the influence of his rage, he usually remembers his opponents, but he draws a blank here.

“I might have a photo of him if that helps.”

“What?” Tahmoh looks up from his notes while Jensen stares, stunned as if he’s been slapped in the face.

“I used to take pictures of the fights on my phone,” Jared admits shyly. “I stopped when Jensen and I—” he pauses because Tahmoh’s expression is pinched and sour like he’s chewing on a lemon.

To Jensen’s chagrin, Jared’s phone is a treasure trove of evidence. He brings up the relevant photos before handing it over for Tahmoh to scroll through.

“You took photos?” Jensen leans over to ask quietly.

“Told you, I like to watch.”

He knows better than to be fooled by Jared’s wide, innocent stare. “We’re gonna talk about that later, okay?”

Jared nods, about to say something else when Tahmoh curses again.

“I’ll be damned.” He flips the phone to reveal a photo of the victim standing beside a familiar ring and talking to none other than Stephen Amell.

Jensen scowls. “He knew Amell?”

“Amell?” Tahmoh frowns in confusion until it hits him. “You mean the asshole who works for Ellis?” He doesn’t mention Amell’s behavior at the party. Jensen hasn’t told Jared about that yet and, in light of all that’s been revealed today, he’s even less inclined to tell him.

“I saw them fight once,” Jared tells them. “Amell lost.”

“Bet that turned a few heads.”

“You’re not kidding.” Tahmoh shows them another photo where, in the background, Jensen sees the victim shaking hands with Tom Ellis. It’s blurry, but Jensen recognizes the smile on Ellis’ face; it’s the one he wears when he’s got someone trapped in his sights.

Jensen meets Tahmoh’s gaze, knowing that he saw it, too. Tahmoh flips through a few more photos until he’s satisfied before he sends the relevant ones to his private email to be downloaded later.

“I’ll show them to Berry in the morning,” he says, handing the phone back to Jared, “unless you remember anything else.”

They both look to Jared, who shrugs. “I never talked to him. I don’t even know his name. I only remember his face from a few fights.”

Jensen is relieved to hear that. His head is spinning, each scenario worse than the one before. There’s no doubt in his mind that the dead guy got involved in Ellis’ world—maybe it began with an invitation like the one Jensen couldn’t turn down—and that it somehow led to his death. Tahmoh must be thinking along those same lines, though he doesn’t say it out loud.

“Alright, enough for tonight,” Jensen announces, noticing how Jared has gone still beside him. All of this—the crime scene photo, the gentle interrogation—must be hard for him to handle. Years on the job or tours overseas forced Tahmoh and Jensen to develop the stomachs for shit like this, but Jared’s never been exposed to the darkest side of humanity. Jensen would give anything to rewind time and prevent the kid from ever picking up that photo.

Jensen suggests a movie, but they settle on a Red Sox game and allow the commentary to chase away the last thirty minutes. Tahmoh disappears during the fourth inning, and Jensen pulls Jared close.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Jared’s voice is muffled by Jensen’s t-shirt where his face is tucked against his shoulder. “I just wish today was over.”

“It’s been one hell of a roller coaster. Had its highlights, though,” Jensen adds, thinking back to their time in his bedroom and the emotions that broke free. He hates that the rest of the day was marred with such ugliness, though he’s grateful the kid is spending the night instead of going home to process on his own.

They decide to call it a night during the seventh inning stretch. The two of them are more focused on each other than the game. While Jared heads for the bathroom, Jensen knocks on the door to Tahmoh’s bedroom.

“You haven’t told Jared about the party,” Tahmoh says when he lets Jensen in.

“I told him Ellis wanted me for a job. He doesn’t need to know it went any further than that.” The only reaction he gets is the stiffening of Tahmoh’s shoulders. “You’ll look into Ellis?”

“Now that I have an official reason,” Tahmoh explains. “If he’s involved in this, we’ll get him.”

“The sooner, the better. I found out earlier that Amell used to harass Jared at the fights, even showed up at the diner a few times.” He watches a familiar anger cloud Tahmoh’s gaze. “The guy is worse than I thought.”

“You’ve got to do one thing for me, Jen,” Tahmoh says as Jensen is about to turn and leave. “Swear you won't go to another fight. I don’t care how bad things get. ‘Cause if you go, Jared’s gonna follow, and I know you don’t want him near any of that. And _tell_ me if Ellis contacts you again, okay?”

He answers with a firm nod, circling the idea over and over as he locks up the house and makes his way to his bedroom. Jensen never expected any of this when he sat down at the diner earlier, looking forward to an easy night. The rage is there, potent and fresh after everything that has unfolded, and normally he’d be itching for a fight. 

Except, when he walks into his bedroom and sees Jared on his usual side of the bed, the rage is suddenly extinguished. All he wants to do is lie down beside him and forget. Screw Ellis and his underground club, Jensen decides. Everything he needs is under this roof. He’ll survive without another fight.

There’s no other choice.

Late on Friday night, Jensen walks in on Tahmoh arguing with someone on the phone.

“Don’t do anything without talking to me first, alright?” Tahmoh is saying when he spots Jensen coming in. “I’ve got to go, just remember what I said.” He hangs up and sighs, his shoulders sagging. Tahmoh looks weary, a sign of the overtime he’s been putting in.

“Something important?”

“Just another case,” Tahmoh says. “Did Jared get home okay?”

Jensen nods. “I’d rather have him staying here until this blows over.”

“He has to go home sometime, Jen,” Tahmoh points out. “He doesn’t actually live here.”

Jensen spent the last hour hanging around the diner enjoying a slice of blueberry pie a la mode while Jared finished up a dinner shift, waiting to escort him. It killed him to watch Jared disappear into his mom’s house, but Jared is babysitting his sisters tomorrow while Darren and his mom are gone.

“Just want to make sure he’s safe.”

“He’s fine, no reason for him to be on anyone’s radar.” Tahmoh had promised to keep Jared’s name out of his investigation. That courtesy extended to Jensen, too, he said.

Jensen drops his phone and keys on the kitchen counter and takes the beer Tahmoh offers. “Any leads?”

“I shouldn’t be talking to you about an open case.”

“Bullshit. I’m already involved, Moh.” He should know better than to feed Jensen a line like that, no matter what police procedure dictates.

“We’re working on it.” Tahmoh’s fingers tap at his phone screen. “We finally ID’d the victim, though. His name was Kevin Alejandro. He had a record, a few misdemeanors when he was in his twenties.”

The name isn’t familiar. Jensen was hoping it would spark something. When Tahmoh shows him a driver’s license photo on his phone, he shakes his head.

“Never met the guy. What about Ellis?”

“He’s slippery,” Tahmoh complains, “but one of Berry’s informants puts Alejandro at a club with Ellis and a few of his associates last weekend, and we know from the drug task force that a major deal went down that night.”

“How’d they know?”

“They were tipped off before the meeting. By the time the officers responded, the major players were gone.”

Jensen groans. “Someone ratted on Ellis? Guess we know who.”

Two pairs of eyes shift to the photo of Kevin Alejandro.

“We’ll get him.”

“He’s too sharp, and now he’s taking out anyone who gets in his way.”

“Now, Ellis has the task force _and_ homicide checking into every move he makes,” Tahmoh assures him. “That’s a hell of a lot of pressure. He’s bound to mess up.”

“I’m not that patient.” Not when the people Jensen cares about are in the middle.

“I know, but we’re doing everything we can. Speaking of which, I want you to come to Aleks’ gym with me tomorrow.”

Jensen’s gaze narrows. “You think Aleks knows something?”

“Not Aleks specifically,” Tahmoh clarifies, “but Alejandro was obviously an experienced fighter if he was able to take down one of Ellis’ headliners. Someone around the gym might have known him, or at least be able to tell us what he was doing after he stopped attending the underground fights.”

Jensen picks idly at the beer label. “Why do you need me?”

“Far as I’ve heard, you’ve been making a name for yourself at the fights. They’ve seen your face, and hopefully they’ll trust you enough to talk.”

“Tough to trust anyone when you’re getting paid to beat the crap out of people.”

“Humor me.” Tahmoh squeezes Jensen’s shoulder as he walks out of the kitchen. “The more we get people to talk, the sooner this will all be over.”

The gym is a bust. Jensen and Tahmoh have been here for hours, sparring with familiar and unfamiliar faces until they’re both dragging. Only a few of the members recognized Alejandro’s photo and, of those, none of them knew where he’d been spending his time lately. The only useful piece of information they get is from one of the kickboxing instructors who dated Alejandro.

“I thought we were getting pretty close, then he just sort of dropped off the radar,” she told Jensen after Tahmoh broke the news about her ex-boyfriend’s death. Each sentence was punctuated with a hard kick against the bag Jensen was steadying for her. “But he called me a couple of weeks ago, asked if we could give it another try. I told him to give me a call when he was finished with whatever was going on. I never heard from him after that. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

They’re about to change and head home when Aleks calls them into his office.

“What the hell is going on?” he asks as soon as the door closes behind them. “One of my instructors said you were asking questions about a former member?”

“Easy, Aleks.” Tahmoh placates him with a calm gesture. “It’s for an investigation.”

“No one here had anything to do with whatever you’re investigating.”

“There was a murder.” As soon as the words are out of Tahmoh’s mouth, the atmosphere changes. Aleks appears taken aback. “All I’m doing is asking questions, seeing if people knew the victim.”

“Who was it?”

Tahmoh shows him the photo and Jensen watches the expression on Aleks’ face turn from antagonism to confusion. “That guy? He was murdered?”

“You recognize him?”

Aleks nods. “He used to come around a lot, even dated Lauren, one of my trainers. Nice guy. Keith or Kevin something.”

Tahmoh is taking notes on his phone. “Any issues?”

“No. He was a good fighter. I could tell he’d had some training, maybe college wrestling or a few years in the military. No one had a problem with the guy. He had money issues—credit card declined his membership fee once, but he brought me cash right away—but who doesn’t have that happen once in a while, you know?”

A picture is starting to form in Jensen’s mind. He knows Alejandro’s story all too well. “When did he stop coming around?”

Aleks thinks back. “Three or four months maybe. I heard he was—” He pauses, eyes darting between Tahmoh and Jensen.

“Tahmoh knows all about the underground fights,” Jensen assures him. “He’s not looking to jam you up over it.”

“Figures.” Aleks crosses his arms. “Last I heard, he was making decent money at those fights. Couple of the amateurs I’ve been training would talk about him. You, too,” he adds, looking at Jensen. “I’m surprised you never faced off against one another.”

Jensen shrugs. “Before my time, I guess.”

Satisfied, Tahmoh pockets his phone. “Sorry about all this, Aleks. You’ll let me know if you think of anything else?”

“Of course, I want you to get the guy who’s responsible. Next time, just give me a head’s up before you start questioning people in my gym, alright?”

Tahmoh nods and steps out of the office first. Jensen is about to follow when Aleks grabs his elbow.

“Hold up, Jensen.” He steps closer, keeping his voice low. “He’s investigating that bastard Ellis, isn’t he?”

Jensen knows Tahmoh wouldn’t confirm it. Good thing Jensen’s not a cop. “Easier said than done.”

“Shit. Always knew that guy was no good. Those fights used to be simple, a place for people who didn’t have anywhere else to go. Real _physical_ therapy, you know? Once Ellis got involved, it turned into something else he could exploit.”

“I’m just there for the fights.”

Aleks fixes him with a hard stare. “That’s not what I’ve heard. Been a lot of rumors going around the gym lately.”

“Yeah?” There’s a bite to Jensen’s words. “You gonna listen to shit like that?”

“Fighters talk,” Aleks points out, “and they’re saying you’re Ellis’ shiny, new pet project.”

Jensen’s jaw clenches involuntarily. “Like hell I am.”

“Just be careful,” Aleks warns. “You’ve seen what happens to the ones who disappoint him.”

Jensen pushes the lawnmower into the garage on Monday afternoon and wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. He’s grateful the finicky old machine didn’t give out on him—he’ll have to start looking for a used one pretty soon to replace it.

He figures he has plenty of time to jump in the shower and wash the dirt and grass clippings off his skin before Jared comes over after his shift. The kid is finally able to stay the night after watching his half-sisters for most of the weekend. Jensen spent that time waiting for Tahmoh to tell him there was a break in the case, but so far there hasn’t been as much progress as either of them wanted.

“I gave Berry everything we had,” Tahmoh said, referring to his partner and senior detective. “We’re pursuing every lead we’ve got. This is major, Jen. The whole squad is on this.”

Jensen was hoping for more. Every day that Ellis is out there and free is another day that Jensen’s world remains in chaos.

His thoughts drift as he stands under the lukewarm spray. Kevin Alejandro’s lifeless face won’t leave him alone. Their stories were similar, and Jensen’s subconscious has dredged up nightmares where it’s his face in the crime scene photos, his body lying on the floor of a rundown apartment.

When he said as much to Tahmoh on Sunday night, his brother frowned and told him, “You can’t think like that.”

“But it could’ve been me. Getting out of the service, no steady job to go back to, falling in with the wrong crowd.”

“You made different choices,” Tahmoh’s tone left no room for argument, “and you had me. I would ever have left you to fend for yourself.”

Those words calmed some of the discord in Jensen’s mind, though the nightmares would persist until Ellis got what was coming to him.

Jared pulls in not long after Jensen finishes tossing a t-shirt over his cleanest pair of jeans. The kid already texted him about wanting to go to a charity book sale at one of the greater Boston community centers. For once, Jensen’s looking forward to getting out of the house and taking their minds off the murder investigation unfolding around them.

An hour later, Jensen is in the middle of the community center holding Jared’s bag of found treasures, plus his own bag weighed down by a few nonfiction hardcovers for Tahmoh and a couple of do-it-yourself guides on gardening and home repair. If one or two sci-fi thrillers made it into the tote he’d donated ten bucks to fill, well, the kid will keep his secret.

His phone rings as Jared is methodically picking through a pile of historical fiction books. Jensen answers without looking at his screen and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

“Mr. Ackles. Long time no see.”

Jensen always thought it was just an expression, but when he hears that sharp British accent, he feels the blood drain from his face.

“Been busy,” he struggles to say, furtively glancing around the community center.

“I’m sure.” Jensen hears the sneer over the phone. He steps away from Jared, putting his back against the wall. “I thought you might be interested in one of those opportunities we discussed. I need you Saturday evening.”

“Another party?”

“Something a bit more private to introduce you to a few of my associates.”

Jensen looks at Jared, who’s happily flipping through a thick hardcover. “I don’t think Saturday works for me.”

There’s a pause, too long to be comfortable. Jensen’s pulse kicks up a notch.

“That would be a shame. I can promise you generous compensation.”

“It’s not about the money,” Jensen covers. “I have somewhere else to be.”

Ellis won’t be put off. “I’ll give you a few days to reconsider. Something might happen to make you change your mind.”

Jensen swallows his anger. Ellis is baiting him, trying to provoke a response. Before he can say anything, the line goes dead, and Jared is walking over to him with two more books in his arms.

“Everything okay?”

“Just work.” Jensen slips his phone into his pocket and smiles. He doesn’t want to lie, but he doesn’t know how to explain. “Still looking for more books?”

Jared’s grin turns sheepish as he hands his latest acquisitions to Jensen, who adds them to the bag. “I think I’ve got plenty. Thanks for coming with me.”

“No problem. It’s nice to be out.”

“Yeah, seems like we’re always at the diner or your place. Maybe we can grab dinner before we head back?”

No way Jensen can resist those pleading eyes, even if he wanted to. He shifts the bags and takes Jared’s hand as they make their way out to the parking lot.

After a filling meal of pasta and bread at a family-style Italian restaurant Jared’s always wanted to try, they get back to the house with a full bag of leftovers. Tahmoh is reclining on the couch lazily sipping a beer and watching a documentary when they come in. He stands and follows Jensen into the kitchen while Jared goes to unpack his books.

“You alright?” he asks, reading the hesitance in Jensen’s expression.

He’s about to fill Tahmoh in on the phone call from Ellis when Jared returns and derails his intentions for the rest of the evening.

That night, Jared is all smiles and sultry eyes when he climbs into bed beside Jensen. It’s a short line between cuddling together and frantically making out while their hands seek bare skin. In no time at all, Jensen’s dick is firm and flushed in response to Jared’s eager touches. The kid’s in a similar state, rubbing against him and tilting his chin to reach Jensen’s mouth. Slow, easy kissing quickly turns heated, setting a blaze that ends with Jensen toppling Jared onto his back and leaning over him. Jared stretches his arms, wrapping them around Jensen’s back and angling for another kiss. Jensen has other plans.

The call from Ellis is the last thing on his mind now that he’s got Jared spread out like this, naked and tempting as hell. It feels good, more carefree tonight after what amounted to their first real date; it’s as close as they’ve come to a normal day.

Once he’s between Jared’s legs, he knows exactly what he wants. Jensen’s lips tease the base of Jared’s cock while his hands spread Jared’s thighs wide enough to lie between them. Jared’s skin is fresh and warm from the shower he took, and Jensen wants to take him apart slowly. Jared whimpers at the first touch of Jensen’s lips to the skin behind his balls, surprised and aroused. Jensen teases that sensitive stretch with his tongue, his hands squeezing Jared’s thighs at the same time. When he drops even lower, flirting with the rim of Jared’s hole, the kid gasps, his cock jumping as the unfamiliar thrill runs through his body.

Been an age since Jensen has eaten a guy out, but it’s not something you forget. He takes it slow—no sense overwhelming him—circling the rim with a gentle tongue, flicking across the entrance. Jared melts into it like ice cream on a hot day, open and willing and moaning with each new sensation as Jensen slips his tongue inside for the first time. Jensen is in love with the feeling of Jared responding so enthusiastically, giving himself over.

While Jared recovers from his orgasm, prone and panting on the bed, Jensen excuses himself to quickly clean and rinse his mouth, unwilling to deprive himself the pleasure of kissing Jared. He comes out of the bathroom to the sight of the kid waiting for him with a heated gaze, and he falls happily into his arms, eager for whatever Jared wants to explore with him tonight.

Jensen’s been awake for an hour, nursing his coffee and going through the mail after seeing Jared off for his shift, when Tahmoh comes into the kitchen and heads straight for the coffee pot.

“Getting an early start?”

Tahmoh nods sleepily. “Berry and I have a meeting with the drug task force. I’m hoping they’ve got something on Ellis’ operation that we can use.”

“It’s about time.”

Tahmoh sips his coffee while he pulls together breakfast. “You and Jared seemed good last night,” he comments as he spreads honey on his toast. “Nice to see you both smiling.”

“It was good…” Jensen takes a deep breath.

“But?”

Tahmoh needs to know. “I got a call from Ellis yesterday. He wanted me for some sort of job. I dodged him, but he implied there were ways to change my mind.”

“Jesus Christ. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Jared was here, I didn’t get the chance. We’ve got to get this son of a bitch.”

“I know, Jen. The task force might have a way in. According to Berry, they confirmed the tip about the deal a couple weeks ago came from Kevin Alejandro. That gives Ellis, or someone close to him, a motive to kill him.”

“So what the hell should I do in the meantime? Let Ellis keep making his threats?”

“If he calls you again, tell me ASAP,” Tahmoh insists. “Leave him to the police, don’t get involved. Got it?” He catches sight of Jensen’s expression. “Stay close to Jared. It’ll be good to keep your mind off the investigation.”

Tahmoh’s directive is easy to follow. The next day, Jensen throws himself into work to make the time go by faster, texting Jared whenever he has a break. After work, he heads to the diner and chats with Danni while Jared finishes his shift. To Jensen’s delight, Danni turns out to be a Saints fan, and the two of them talk offseason NFL moves and lament how tough it is to live in Boston and not root for the Patriots.

Jensen tags along later when Jared heads over to the technical college to meet with an instructor about a particular class track. The woman was recommended by Tahmoh, and Jared comes out of the meeting more positive than ever about starting school in the fall. They stop for groceries on the way back to Jensen’s, adding some of Jared’s staples to the cart—energy drinks, green grapes, sour cream and onion chips—along with items on Tahmoh’s list and fixings for dinner.

“Seriously, your mom hasn’t said anything?” Jensen asks. They’re cooking fajitas and rice side by side when the topic of Jared spending so much time away from home comes up.

“I mean, she’s asked a couple of times,” Jared says, slicing peppers and onions while Jensen keeps an eye on the chicken. “I used to tell her I was at my brother’s place, but now she knows that I’ve met someone.”

Jensen smirks. “Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”

“Shut up.”

“Is it serious?” he teases, earning a hip-check.

They’re washing dishes after putting together a plate for Tahmoh to heat up later when Jared comes back to the subject. “Darren brought up the idea of me renting an apartment, or finding a roommate. It would make things easier on my mom. I know I’m a lot, but I do my best not to be a burden.”

Jensen aches for him, the way he always does when reminded of Jared’s situation. He spends the rest of the night making sure the kid knows that there’s at least one place besides the diner where no one would ever consider him a burden.

Wednesday sees the same routine. Tahmoh is barely home, swept up in the case, which Jensen takes as a sign things might finally be moving along.

On Thursday, Jensen once again heads for the diner after work. He’s comfortable there, too, now that Danni and Misha know he’s looking out for Jared no matter what. He walks into the Back Bay and stops dead in his tracks.

Sitting at the counter, wearing an unnerving, off-kilter grin, is Stephen Amell.

Danni is on the other side, arms crossed and frowning, visibly relieved to see Jensen arrive. He steps up to the counter, shoulders tense and hackles raised.

“Ackles, it’s about damn time.”

“Funny seeing you here.” Jensen assesses the situation like he was trained to do in the service. Amell doesn’t have a gun; Jensen checks for a bulge at his sides, lower back, and ankles. Fortunately, it’s a hot day so Amell isn’t wearing layers. Jensen can’t dismiss the possibility of a knife, but he has a good chance if it comes down to close combat.

Amell’s eyes flash, amused at the assessment. “I thought I’d come and see some of my favorite people.”

“I’m flattered.” Jensen’s tone is lifeless.

“One out of two’s not bad.”

Jensen looks at Danni. “Jared’s not here,” she hastily tells him. Possibly a lie, so Jensen goes with it. “Family emergency.”

“I just came to get some food.”

“Good.” Amell pats the stool next to him. “Been a while since we’ve talked.”

Jensen leaves a seat between them. He nods, and Danni steps away to take care of her other customers. A chill runs down his spine when Amell looks over, wildfire in his eyes.

He doesn’t waste any time getting down to business. “Ellis wants me to convince you to take the job this weekend.”

“I told him I couldn’t.”

Jensen expects an argument, surprised when Amell doesn’t react. His turbulent gaze tracks Danni as she delivers plates to a booth and heads into the kitchen.

“I don’t care if you take the job or not,” Amell puts forth. “No skin off my back. That’s not the only reason I’m here.”

“Get to it then.”

“Ellis figured you might be reluctant to get your feet wet. He has another job for you. This one’s much easier and pays a hell of a lot more.”

“If it’s that good, why aren’t you doing it?”

The sparks in Amell’s eyes glow brighter; he looks even more dangerous. “Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like more, but Ellis made it pretty clear that he wanted you.”

Jensen wishes he’d get on with it. Ellis’ henchman has overstayed his welcome.

“Your brother’s a cop, right? Rumor has it the Boston P.D. is investigating Ellis.”

Jensen sneers. “And you think I know something about it? My brother doesn’t discuss police business at home.”

“I’m sure you could dig around, ask questions,” Amell points out unhelpfully. “Pass along any information about what the cops have, where they’re looking.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s all classified. If he knew anything, he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Maybe you just need the right motivation.” Amell looks around the diner, his filthy gaze touching everything. “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that we know you, Ackles. We know your routine. For some reason, Ellis likes you. If you want to be on our side, you’ll have it made, but if not...just imagine all the ways he can hurt you. I mean, I’d hate to see something happen to that kid’s pretty face.”

Hammer dropped, Amell stands and moves towards Jensen. In a split-second, Jensen jumps out of his seat and slams the bastard against the counter, his stool clattering to the linoleum floor.

“Don’t you dare threaten Jared,” he growls, incensed.

Amell shrugs, the movement hindered by Jensen’s hold. “I’m just the messenger.”

“Like hell you are.” It’s plain as day on Amell’s face; he’s enjoying every minute of this. Danni is frozen on her way out of the kitchen, staring at the scene in wide-eyed shock. Jensen’s blood is pumping—he can’t make a scene in here. “Get the fuck out.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Amell’s laugh is grating. He winks at Danni on his way out and lets the door slam behind him.

“He was just sitting there, waiting for me.”

Sitting across from Jensen in the booth, Tahmoh frowns. “Everyone’s okay, though? He didn’t try anything?”

“No, Danni saw the creep coming through the window. She told Jared to stay out of sight in the back. Amell never knew he was here.”

Sitting beside Jensen, Jared is fidgeting with the energy drink in his hands. He came out of the kitchen as soon as Amell was gone and made a beeline for Jensen. Cool relief rushed through Jensen the moment Jared stepped into his arms.

Jensen was planning to call his brother as soon as his nerves settled—Tahmoh had been vehement about sharing any contact Jensen had with Ellis or his associated—but Jared beat him to it. Within fifteen minutes, Tahmoh walked into the diner along with his partner, Detective Lisa Berry. The tall, black woman sits next to Tahmoh, now, listening to everything they’re saying with a carefully neutral expression.

He relays the exchange with the knowledge that Tahmoh has filled Berry in on what she needs to know regarding Jensen’s involvement.

“Did he mention Alejandro?” Berry asks.

“No, nothing specific, just that he knew the police were investigating Ellis.”

The detectives share a look; they were obviously hoping for more. Beneath the table, Jared slips his hand into Jensen’s and squeezes.

“What if I told Ellis that I’ll take his job offer. You know, to see if I can get more information. I could wear a wire.”

Berry considers the idea, but Tahmoh shoots it down with a scowl. “It’s too dangerous. Ellis will suspect something if you appear willing all of a sudden. We shouldn’t be going after him until we have an airtight case, ‘cause guys like this have a nasty habit of disappearing.”

Jensen is ready to argue that he needs to do _something_ when Berry cuts in. “Let’s hold off on any of that for now,” she says, hands on the table. “In the meantime, we’ll look into Amell.”

She stands up, leaving the three of them in the booth, and makes her way over to talk to Danneel at the counter. Jensen has met Tahmoh’s partner several times, and he appreciated her tendency to shoot straight, no nonsense. From Tahmoh’s stories, she’s a little intense on the job, but the two of them get along well, both on the clock and off.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” Tahmoh tells Berry before looking across the table.

Jared is the first to speak up once she’s gone. “I thought you’d come alone.”

“I had to get Berry involved,” Tahmoh explains. “This is getting serious. As far as I’m concerned, you’re family, but we need to keep everything above board. As the senior detective, she needs to take point.”

“So, what now?” Jensen asks, frustrated.

“If Jared’s finished here, you guys should head home. Berry and I will figure out what comes next.”

That sounds good to Jensen. He’s desperate to get out of here. Jared, too, appears eager to leave.

Back at the house, Jensen convinces Jared to bring his book out onto the patio and enjoy the late afternoon sun while he takes care of the yard work. The sight of the kid stretched out on the second-hand patio set, chin tilted towards the sun, is a welcome one.

It’s not until they’re making dinner that Jared brings up what happened earlier.

“I wanted to confront him, but Misha said it was better if I didn’t. We thought he’d get bored and leave before you showed up.”

“I’m glad you stayed in the back. Amell is unpredictable, better he stay focused on me.”

Jared mixes the stir-fry distractedly, taking a long time to think before he says, “I couldn’t hear everything. Must’ve been awful, listening to him say all that stuff.”

“He was following orders. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know.” Jared sighs. “No one’s ever looked out for me before.”

The words hit Jensen right in the chest, and he covers the hitch in his breath with a cough. The kid deserves better than Jensen and the mess he’s in with Ellis, but Jensen is going to hang on as long as he can. There’s a small part of him that regrets getting involved with the underground fights in the first place, but that’s overruled by the knowledge that they never would have crossed paths otherwise. Jared is worth so much more than any of this, as long as Jensen can keep him safe.

Jared is in the shower when Tahmoh comes home. He makes sure they’re alone before he informs Jensen that, “We might have a lead.”

Jensen follows Tahmoh out onto the patio where the warm night buzzes around them. “Something to tie Ellis to the murder?”

Tahmoh shakes his head. “He wanted you for a job on Saturday, right?”

“Ellis didn’t say what it was for. Not specifically.”

“Berry and I got word that the task force has intel that a major deal will be going down that night.”

Jensen shudders at the thought that Ellis might drop him in the middle of a drug deal. “And you’re thinking the cops will be able to nail him then?”

“I doubt Ellis will be close by. Guys like that send one or two people they can trust, the rest are expendable.” Jensen knows which category he’s in. “If B.P.D. busts up the deal, he’ll be long gone before we can get to him. Unless we know he’ll be busy somewhere else.”

“Shit.” Despite the hopeful expression on Tahmoh’s face, it sounds like more bad news. “So, what? You want me to go in after all?”

“Not exactly.”

Jensen turns away and clenches his fists. Turning his face up at the night sky, hazy black swirled with orange from the city lights, he could almost scream. “You’ve gotta give me something, Moh,” he says, fed up. “This needs to end before someone gets hurt.”

Instead of being upset, a small smile forms on Tahmoh’s face. It’s a cross between hope and resigned acceptance. “I figured you’d feel that way.”

“And?”

Tahmoh crosses his arms, determined. He reminds Jensen of a soldier about to step into battle. “And I think that maybe it’s time to tell Ellis what he wants to know.”

On Friday morning, Jensen places the call he swore he’d never make.

“You’ve made your point,” he says when Tom Ellis picks up. “I’ll play ball, but I want something in return.”

There’s a long silence over the line, enough for Jensen to question what the hell he’s doing here, because this entire thing is insane and he should never have gone along with it. He’d arrived early at the jobsite, so there’s no one else around to see him sitting in his car. He’s about to end the call when Ellis finally speaks up. “ _Interesting, but I’m happy to hear you’ve come around. If this is about compensation…_ ”

“I’m not talking about the money,” Jensen insists. “I want a fight.”

“ _A private fight?_ ” At least Ellis hadn’t dismissed it out of hand. “ _I suppose I could arrange for a suitable opponent, if you make it worth my while_.”

Jensen takes a deep breath. “I want Amell.”

Ellis laughs, and the sound has Jensen’s nerves burning under his skin. “ _Now that would be quite the event. I realize the two of you have had your...disagreements in the past, but I’ve always regretted never arranging for the two of you to meet in the ring. Might I ask why?_ ”

“He touched something that belongs to me,” Jensen hisses, summoning his rage and letting it gather like storm clouds on the horizon. “Set it up, tomorrow night. Once I beat the shit out of him, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

“ _I’ll consider it._ ” Ellis’ voice turns to ice when he adds, “ _I don’t like people making demands, but this amuses me. First, I need to know you’re serious_.”

“That mean you want a taste?” Jensen’s ready for this. “You know there’s a task force looking into you?”

“ _I’ve become aware_.”

Jensen feeds him the lines he’d practiced with Tahmoh. “Are you _aware_ that the cops are getting their intel from one of your rivals? Some designer-drug dealer you pissed off who’s trying to save his own ass.”

“ _Interesting._ ”

“Set up the fight and you’ll get the rest.”

“ _If I do this, I want everything_ ,” Ellis says. “ _No more holding out on me, do you understand?_ ”

“Trust me, I get the picture.”

“ _I’ll be in touch, Mr. Ackles._ ”

Jensen can’t hang up fast enough. A shudder works its way through his body, and he tosses the phone on the passenger seat.

It’s done.

Instead of getting out of his car and going to work, Jensen drives away from the jobsite and calls off sick. His stomach is in knots and there’s a persistent pounding at his temples. His boss doesn’t ask questions—Jensen never asks for days off—and tells him to feel better soon.

He leaves a message for Tahmoh, but his brother has his hands full with the pace of the investigation. Restless and anxious, Jensen texts Jared to ask if there’s any chance Misha might let him go early, surprised when the kid writes back that he can leave at noon.

Twenty minutes later, Jensen’s walking into the diner, figuring it’s better than continuing to drive aimlessly around Boston looking for something to give him a purpose.

“Did the two of you sync your moods?” Danni startles Jensen when she swings by to refill his coffee. She might be pouring the crappy stuff; he doubts he could taste the difference right now. “The pair of you are jumpier than a couple of feral cats.”

“Been a rough week,” is all he can say, and she nods in sympathy.

“That’s why Misha told Jared he could head out early. Yesterday really threw him. He’s been distracted since he came in this morning.”

Jensen knows what that feels like; he called Ellis because he wants this nightmare to end for all of them.

“You okay though?” he asks her. After all, she held her own against Amell before Jensen showed up.

Danni nods. “Dealing with assholes is a valuable skill, and I’ve had a lot of practice fending off worse.” She’s tougher than she looks—no wonder Jared likes her so much.

He parks himself at the counter for the rest of the morning, sipping coffee and picking at the BLT Danni brings so he doesn’t starve. The first time Jared comes out of the kitchen to see him, Jensen has a tough time remaining on his stool. The kid looks rough—neither of them slept much, and it wasn’t because of sex—with dark circles under his eyes and a pallor to his smooth skin. All Jensen can do is squeeze his hands when Jared leans over the counter to say hello, silently reassuring Jared that he’s not going anywhere. It’s probably his sleep-deprived imagination that swears the kid’s eyes are brighter after that.

The diner is bustling when noon rolls around, tables full and the staff trying to keep up with the lunch crowd. Jensen assumes Jared will need to stick around until the rush is over, but he reappears a few minutes later with his backpack over his shoulder asking if Jensen is ready to go.

“Misha said he had it covered,” Jared tells him as they’re walking out, “and that I was seriously messing with his energy.”

Jensen takes what he can get, following Jared’s old truck out of the lot before Misha can change his mind. By unspoken agreement, they end up back at Jensen’s house. In his mind, it’s the only place that’s theirs, that’s _safe_. He drops onto the couch, stress and lack of sleep catching up to him, and lifts his arm when Jared sits down and leans into his side.

“Thanks for getting me out of work. Felt like I was going a little crazy.”

“I know what you mean,” Jensen mumbles, his face turned into Jared’s hair. He smells like the kitchen, a little bit of grease mixed with cleaning solutions. It’s not a pleasant smell, but it’s _his_ smell, and Jensen could sit here all day breathing in the familiarity and comfort.

They’ve been lying in peaceful silence for almost half an hour, soaking in each other’s presence and dozing on and off, when he hears Jared quietly ask, “Are you scared?”

There’s no way to mistake why he’s asking. “Shit, of course I am,” Jensen admits. “My life’s never been worth much, but I’d do whatever it took to make sure nothing happens to you or Tahmoh. You’re the only good things I’ve got.”

Jared sits up and turns to face Jensen. “How can you say that? You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met, Jensen. Just the idea that you want to protect me...no one has ever looked out for me the way you have.”

“I wasn’t looking out for you when we met.”

“Are you serious?” Jared grabs his hand. “I’ve always felt safe with you, even the first time we were alone. I knew you were different than everyone else at those fights.”

“Thanks, kid. You’re a better judge of character than me.” Jensen’s voice is rough, emotions choking him up. “But I meant what I said.”

“You’re worth protecting, too. Tahmoh would tell you the same thing.”

Up until now, Tahmoh was the only person who had Jensen’s back outside of the soldiers who’d watched his six on the battlefield. Might be nice to have the kid in his corner, too. Jensen hopes he gets the chance to enjoy a life where that’s a possibility.

Jensen holds the kid close through a movie and the first few innings of the Red Sox game, making out whenever the urge strikes. It’s lazy and slow, yet there’s an undercurrent of tension that Jensen can’t shake. Neither of them is up to cooking, so they order a pizza from Jared’s favorite place and eat on the couch, wrapped up in one another for the remainder of the afternoon.

Jared’s phone rings halfway through the next movie and he untangles himself to retrieve it from his bag. He glances at the screen and his smile falls. “It’s Darren,” he says when he catches Jensen staring. “Probably trying to guilt me into another one of his weekend projects tomorrow.”

Since he was barely paying attention to the movie, Jensen figures it’s time for a break. “It’s okay, I’ll be in the shower.”

While the water heats up, Jensen locks eyes with his reflection in the mirror. Just a few months ago, he saw a man who’d been ravaged by the fires of his rage, all defenses burned away. Jensen was scorched earth and he thought nothing would ever change that. Now, he’s beginning to see the fresh growth after a forest fire, healthier and more resilient than what was there before.

He’s rinsing the shampoo out of his hair when he hears a knock on the bathroom door.

“Can I come in?” Jared asks over the rush of the spray. “If you’d rather be alone—”

“Sure, make yourself at home,” Jensen calls back. He’s not sure where this is going until Jared steps naked into the shower behind him, immediately plastering himself to Jensen’s back.

“Everything okay?”

Jared’s chin rubs against Jensen’s shoulder blade as he nods. It’s a special brand of torture to shower with Jared pressed up against him, barely enough room for two men. Jensen pours body wash into Jared’s hands, and washing quickly devolves into caressing one another with slick hands, seeking out the spots that spark and ignite.

There’s no need for words; Jensen knows where this is heading now.

Toweled off and naked, they manage to stumble their way into the bedroom without letting go of one another, tumbling onto the mattress. They don’t speak, not with words anyway. Having Jared in his bed is like having an anchor for Jensen’s chaotic mind. He knows what he wants when he spreads his knees wide and coaxes Jared to lie in between. The kid’s eyes are dark and filled with heat as he reaches for the lube and the box of condoms Jensen bought to make this a little easier for both of them.

When Jared finally presses into him after ten torturous minutes of preparation, Jensen expects the earth to move. It doesn’t, of course, but it’s more intense than anything he’s felt before. The stretch, the fullness, the fine tremors running through his body all combine in a shockwave that overwhelms his senses. He certainly wasn’t a virgin, but Jared’s cock hits places inside Jensen that drive him wild.

For the first time, Jensen is at one with the fire in his blood. It feels _good_ , safe and warm, no longer raging out of his control. He taps into the heat, uses it to pull Jared deeper, desperate to engulf them both.

Jensen would do anything for Jared. He hasn’t said it out loud, but they’re bound together by a four-letter word that Jensen has rarely used in his lifetime. He once thought he’d never grasp its full meaning.

He understands now.

Jared doesn’t last long, but the night is just getting started and Jensen is nowhere near finished with him. He strokes Jared’s back through his orgasm and disposes of the condom when Jared pulls out and collapses on the bed. With Jared spread out and incoherent, Jensen takes his time collecting sweat on his tongue as he works his way up and down Jared’s body. The kid moans and writhes, arousal building gradually until his cock begins to swell again. Jensen happily sucks him to full hardness, the ache between his own legs secondary to priming Jared for round two.

After more lube and a new condom, Jensen sinks down onto Jared’s cock, riding the kid to within an inch of his life. Jensen holds nothing back, fucking himself while Jared’s fingers press a new set of bruises into the skin over his hips. His thighs are screaming, but Jensen doesn’t stop until Jared starts thrusting up, matching his rhythm. He leans down until their lips touch, enjoying wide, open-mouthed kisses as Jared’s renewed stamina takes over. 

Jensen falls apart with Jared’s cock inside him, a sensation he’s never experienced before. He’s a wreck afterward, panting and shaking on top of Jared as the kid is pushed over the edge for the second time by the sight of Jensen coming around him.

It’s not long before neither one of them can keep their eyes open. Jensen fights sleep as long as possible, intent on savoring every moment, succumbing only after Jared is still and breathing softly beside him.

Jensen wakes up on Saturday morning to overcast skies and a cool, empty space beside him. He stretches and yawns, realizing he slept through his alarm, and forces himself out of bed. His body protests each movement as he heads into the bathroom to relieve himself and wash his face, making plans to find Jared and haul him back to bed—over his aching shoulders if necessary—so they can both ignore the outside world for a little longer.

He walks into the kitchen and stops, turns around and checks the living room, and opens the back door to make a sweep of the patio and yard.

Jared is nowhere to be found.

When Jensen looks out at the street, Jared’s truck is gone. He hears Tahmoh moving around in his room and rushes towards the other end of the house.

“Did you see Jared leave?”

Tahmoh pulls his headphones out of his ears. His shirt is damp and there’s sweat along his neck. He must have just come in from a run. “He left? I thought today was his day off.”

“His truck’s gone and he didn’t leave a note or a text.”

“Maybe he picked up an extra shift and forgot to tell you.” Tahmoh moves towards Jensen slowly as if he’s afraid to spook him. “Could be that his mom needed him for something. Have you called him?”

Jensen brandishes his phone as if it’s the source of his frustration and worry. “He’s not picking up, and I’ve left three messages.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” Tahmoh’s voice has dropped into that soothing cadence he uses on victims and children. That tone sure as hell doesn’t work on Jensen right now.

They hear a chime and Jensen holds his phone up, willing it to show him good news, but the screen remains black. Tahmoh picks his up and sighs.

“They need me at the station.”

“Now?” Jensen asks, irate.

“There’s a lot left to do, you know that. If we’re gonna have any chance at nailing Ellis tonight, everything has to be in place. Don’t worry, okay?” He squeezes Jensen’s forearm as he brushes past on his way to the bathroom. “Jared will be back here before you know it.”

None of this feels right. Jensen had a plan for today, and that was to keep Jared close until he had to leave and then take him someplace safe, like the diner or his mom’s house. His plan never included the part where Jared was missing when he woke up.

Despite Tahmoh’s optimism, Jared doesn’t show up at the house. Tahmoh leaves for the station, asking Jensen to let him know if he hears anything from the kid, and Jensen’s restless in the empty house. He gets dressed, jumps in his car, and drives to the diner, never realizing that he’s holding out hope to see Jared’s truck in the parking lot until it’s not there and the dread begins to rise like a tidal wave approaching the shore.

With nowhere else to go and his phone aggravatingly silent, Jensen drives through the quiet suburb where Jared’s mom and Darren live, passing slowly in front of the house three times before he gives up. Jared’s truck isn’t there, either.

The uneasiness blooms into full panic; Jensen’s hands are shaking on the steering wheel. His instincts are screaming that something is wrong, and Jensen spent two tours of duty learning to trust what his gut was telling him.

Pulling into an empty lot, Jensen parks the car and picks up his phone. A thousand possibilities play out in his mind, none of them good. He’s at the end of his rope, about to call a very unwelcome number, when his phone starts ringing. Startled, Jensen drops his cell into the footwell.

When he picks it up and sees that it’s Tahmoh, he answers immediately. “I still haven’t found him, Moh.”

“ _That’s why I’m calling,_ ” Tahmoh explains, an odd formality to his tone. “ _You need to come by the station right away._ ”

If Jensen’s heart is still beating, he can’t feel it. His chest feels hollow. “What are you talking about?”

“ _It’s Jared. He’s here._ ”

The drive to the police station is a blur, although Jensen must break the speed limit getting there.

Tahmoh meets him outside, a scowl on his face. “If you hadn’t hung up on me, I could have told you that Jared’s _fine_ ,” he says as Jensen rushes up. “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

“Why the hell is he here?” Jensen follows Tahmoh inside and past the front desk. “Is he in trouble?”

Tahmoh doesn’t respond as they make their way through the station, passing groups of patrol officers and detectives at their desks. Jensen’s only been here a few times, never quite able to shake his distrust of law enforcement after his time as a juvenile delinquent. It’s ironic that he wound up living with a cop—one he trusts implicitly—all these years later.

The bullpen is buzzing with activity. Jensen wonders if any of it is because of the task force gearing up to make their busts tonight. Finally, he catches sight of Jared sitting beside one of the desks, tension keeping the kid’s spine ramrod-straight.

Jensen doesn’t care who’s watching when he pulls Jared out of the chair and into his arms. “Holy shit,” he says, breathless, “you’re okay.”

Jared clings to him, whispering, “I’m so sorry, I had to do it, Jensen. I never meant to scare you.”

“Do what?” Jensen pulls back to stare at the kid. “What are you talking about?”

Jared’s eyes shift to where Tahmoh is standing.

“Let’s take this someplace quiet,” Tahmoh suggests, in full detective mode, leading the two of them into a small interview room where they’re hidden from the noise and distraction of the open bullpen.

“Someone better start explaining.” Jensen looks between his brother and his boyfriend, attempting to ignore the way his heart is pounding. “I’ve been going out of my mind for hours,” he complains when no one speaks up. “You can’t imagine the kinds of things I was picturing.”

“I should have told you,” Jared says, taking a seat, “but I thought you’d try to stop me.”

Jensen’s hand cuts through the air, betraying his irritation. “Stop you from what?”

Jared looks down at the table. “I went to see Stephen.”

“Amell? You met up with that psycho?” Between agitation and anger, the latter prevails. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Tahmoh takes a step forward. “Take it easy, Jen. Let him explain.”

Based on the kid’s expression, he’d rather not. “He called me Friday morning. I tried to ignore him, but he didn’t stop.”

Jensen expects to see his displeasure reflected on Tahmoh’s face, but finds only calm approval there. Whatever is going on, his brother already heard it, and unlike Jensen, he isn’t upset.

“Amell said you went to Ellis and demanded a fight in exchange for agreeing to work for him,” Jared claims, reminding Jensen that secrets have been kept on both sides. Without delving into specifics, he’d told Jared last night that he and Tahmoh had come up with a plan. He wonders now if his misguided attempts to spare Jared the details had triggered something worse. “He was really pissed off, and he told me he wanted you off his back.”

“He must’ve known something was up,” Tahmoh speculates.

“Talking to Amell is one thing, but what possessed you to agree to meet him?” Jensen is too overwrought to sit down and ends up pacing the small room. “You know how dangerous he is!”

“I did it for you. And for me.”

Shock steals the words straight out of Jensen’s mouth. The earnest confession throws him. With no idea how to react, Jensen rounds on Tahmoh, leaving Jared watching him with a wide, anxious stare.

“Did you know about this?”

“Jen—”

“You rushed in here this morning, told me not to worry about Jared!”

“Tahmoh didn’t know,” Jared cuts in, “I swear.”

“Then what are we doing here?” Jensen’s manic energy is beginning to wane. He leans on the back of a chair, shoulders sagging. “Jared must’ve called you.”

“Actually, Mr. Padalecki called me.”

The new voice startles all three of them, and Jensen is surprised to see Tahmoh’s partner, Detective Berry, step into the room. She’s holding Jared’s cell phone in one hand and a casefile in the other.

“Danni still had her card,” Jared rushes to explain himself, “and after what Tahmoh said about being too close to the investigation, I knew Detective Berry could help me.”

Uneasiness is playing tricks on Jensen’s nerves; he’s cold one moment and sweating the next. “Help you do _what_ exactly?”

Berry smiles. “Catch a killer.”

The story Jensen hears next unfolds in ways that both stun and scare him. It turned out that the messages Jared received on Friday night were from Stephen Amell, not his stepdad like Jensen thought. Using Amell’s desperation, and with Berry calling the shots, Jared set up a meeting at one of the old factories where an underground fight once took place. The kid thought that if he agreed to get Jensen to back down, Amell might give up something incriminating.

That part sounds a little too familiar for Jensen’s liking. Jared is half-apologetic, half-ardent, trying to make Jensen understand the things he’d done. When the guilt hits Jensen, it hits like an anvil.

Earlier this morning, with Jensen dead to the world, Jared had quietly snuck out of bed to meet with Ellis’ unraveling henchman. Armed only with his phone, Detective Berry and six patrol cops backing her up outside, Jared had walked into the lion’s den. The way Jared tells it, Amell had been frantic. The man was determined to maintain his status in Ellis’ organization and threatened by Jensen’s deal, and he was also confident that he could scare Jared into helping him, willing or no.

“He told me to throw off the investigation, or he’d pin that murder on you,” Jared tells Jensen while the two detectives listen, Berry making additional notes in the casefile. “The guy just wouldn’t shut up. Maybe he was on drugs, I have no idea.”

Given what Jensen knows about Ellis’ operation, it’s definitely possible. “So he wanted to frame me for murder?” he sneers. “That was his big plan? How the hell was he going to pull that off?”

Jared looks at Berry, who nods once before taking Jared’s cell phone and selecting something on the screen. A recording begins to play.

“ _If you don’t make this go away, I’ll make sure Ackles goes down for murder._ ” Jensen immediately recognizes Amell’s voice. He sounds frenzied, the words coming too fast. “ _I’ve got everything I need—the gun the idiot cops can’t find, bloody clothes I can plant in Ackles car, towels from that shitty apartment I used to wipe the place down. By the time anyone figures out Ackles didn’t do it, he won’t be talking anymore_.”

Jared reaches for Jensen’s hand, eyes pleading for forgiveness. He threads their fingers together, silently reassuring the kid that everything’s okay, despite thinking that he doesn’t deserve Jared’s loyalty after the way this went down.

“ _No one will believe you._ ” That’s Jared’s voice on the recording, his tone soft yet steady, playing the cowering victim.

“ _Oh yeah? Maybe Ackles killed Alejandro to prove himself to Ellis. The guy was a rat, anyway, snitching to the fucking cops. Easy enough to make it look like Ackles was following orders. Hell, maybe I’ll say that Ackles got his brother to help him cover it up, and they both go away. Boom, then you’ll have no one left._ ”

Berry taps the phone and the recording stops. Jensen is still clinging to Jared’s hand, his thumb rubbing over the old scars, afraid to let go. “And Amell had no idea he was being recorded?”

“Not until we tailed him out of the warehouse and picked him up a block away before he could call anyone. He was carrying a couple dozen oxycontin, too,” Berry supplies, a smug smile on her face. “The drugs gave us a reason to detain him. We’ve got him in a holding cell in the back.”

“He’s not going anywhere, Jen,” Tahmoh assures him. 

“How can you be sure?” The panic forms a bubble in Jensen’s chest, making it difficult to take a full breath. Jared laid his safety on the line by going after Ellis through Stephen Amell, and he could be in more danger than ever.

“Thanks to the recording, we were able to get a warrant to search Amell’s place. Officers and crime scene techs are there as we speak, combing through everything. Thanks to Jared, they know exactly what to look for.”

Jensen admires his brother’s confidence, but as far as he’s concerned, this ordeal isn’t over. Unlike the detectives, he can’t pat himself on the back for a job well done. Not yet. The bigger threat remains on the loose.

“What about Ellis? He’s expecting me and Amell to show up at the fight he arranged for tonight.” If Jensen isn’t there, Ellis will know something is amiss, jeopardizing the entire bust. “That was supposed to be my way in, to gather information.”

The way the kid looks up at Jensen, like the wind has just been knocked out of him, makes him want to sink through the floor in shame, but that’s a problem he’ll have to tackle later.

“We can’t let Amell go, not even to bring down Ellis,” Tahmoh points out. “He’d disappear.”

“Maybe there’s another way in,” Berry proposes. As she says it, a uniformed officer knocks on the doorframe and sticks her head in.

“Detectives? Your guy in holding is demanding to talk to someone.”

Tahmoh glances sideways at Berry. “Did he ask for a lawyer?”

The officer shakes her head and ducks back out of the room. 

Berry smiles. “I guess we’ve given Mr. Amell enough time to consider his options.”

“So, what?” Jensen asks, mindful of how quiet Jared has been in the last few minutes. “You actually expect him to turn on Ellis?”

“It’s one thing to go away on a possession charge,” she says confidently, “but right now, he’s looking at murder. That means hard time. In my experience, people in this situation can’t _wait_ to drag others down with them.” She turns to her partner. “You up for an interrogation?”

Tahmoh nods. “Sure. Give me a minute?” Once Berry leaves the room with Jared’s phone and the casefile, he softens his voice and says, “I can’t imagine what either of you are feeling right now. If you want to stick around ‘til I’m done, I’ll make sure no one disturbs you in here. Otherwise, you’re both free to go.”

Jensen is convinced that he isn’t going anywhere until this is over, but then he notices the way Jared is slouching in the chair, seemingly drained of energy. He recognizes the signs of an adrenaline crash, having experienced more than his share while overseas.

“Go get that son of a bitch,” Jensen says quietly, waving Tahmoh out of the room. “We’ll be okay.”

Once he and Jared are alone, Jensen drags his hands down his face, his mind filled with questions. Pulling an empty chair around, Jensen sits down beside Jared.

“Jensen, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Please don’t.” He’ll fall apart if Jared apologizes anymore. “I got you into this.”

“I knew what I was doing.”

“I’m actually starting to believe that,” Jensen mutters. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?”

“Probably for the same reasons you never told me your plans,” Jared points out, attempting to be funny, but falling flat. “You would’ve tried to stop me, right?” Jensen can only nod. “I meant what I said last night,” the kid continues. “You’re worth protecting, too. When Stephen called, I knew that was my chance.”

Every word reminds Jensen of the way he’d justified his own actions, his rationale for keeping Jared in the dark, and all for nothing. He’s just as guilty of underestimating Jared as Amell, thinking that the kid was in over his head. Amell let his guard down—he became sloppy and cocky—while Jensen was too busy trying to protect Jared to see that he was more than capable of taking care of the people closest to him.

“You wanted to be a hero.”

Jared smiles. “I learned from the best.”

Just like that, Jensen lets go of his anger. Even his guilt floats away as soon as he loosens his grip.

“We make a hell of a pair, kid, throwing ourselves into danger,” Jensen says softly, placing his hand on Jared’s thigh. The kid leans a little closer. “No more secrets, okay?”

Jared nods, grinning in such a way that has Jensen thinking of that four-letter word again.

“Want to get out of here?” Jensen asks. He appreciates Tahmoh’s invitation to stay, but he has a feeling Jared wouldn’t mind getting as far away as possible right now.

“You have no idea,” Jared declares, sounding relieved. “Let’s go home.”

_Home._ “Sounds good.”

“Food first?”

Jensen slings his arm over Jared’s shoulder. “Whatever you want, kid.”

There was a time when Jensen thought Stephen Amell was one of the tough guys, another in a long line of stubborn, violent assholes he’d crossed paths with throughout his less-than-perfect life.

According to Tahmoh, who calls Jensen later that day, Amell folded barely an hour into his interrogation. Once the crime scene technicians uncovered the evidence he’d boasted about on the recording—including the gun and the towels—the man started diming on everyone, including the inner workings of Ellis’ drug operation.

Turned out Ellis was right all along. Good help _was_ hard to find, especially when loyalty fell apart in the face of jail time, then it’s every man for himself.

Jensen insists on showing up to meet Ellis as planned. With their intel bolstered by Amell’s information, the drug task force was already in place several miles away to break up the massive deal when it goes down. He rides over to the venue he’d chosen in an unmarked police car with Tahmoh and Detective Berry; it’s the same musty, abandoned factory where Ellis had first proposed the idea of Jensen working for him. 

There’s a decent crowd gathered at the scene—Ellis was never one to waste an opportunity to put on a show for profit—and Jensen makes his way inside with a razor-sharp grin and fire in his eyes, playing the part of a man there for his pound of flesh.

In his designer suit and polished shoes, Ellis is easy to find.

“Mr. Ackles, right on time.” He beckons Jensen over. “I assume our deal is still in place?”

Jensen’s mask never slips. “You give me Amell, and you can have whatever information you want. So, where the hell is he?”

“Patience, I’m sure he’s here somewhere.”

“Unless he’s a coward.”

Ellis doesn’t respond, his sinister gaze moving across the crowd, trying to pick out his man. Jensen could crow in triumph, but the five minutes Tahmoh and Berry had agreed to give Jensen before cops stormed the place is almost up, and he wants to savor each second.

“Is there a problem?” Jensen demands when Ellis can’t produce his fighter. “We had a deal, Ellis.”

When Ellis turns around, Jensen sees uncertainty in his devilish expression for the first time. “Just give me a moment. I need to make a phone call.”

Ellis is about to slip away, but it’s too late. Jensen hears the frantic commotion as the police crash the doors, each and every exit covered thanks to Jensen giving them an overview of the factory that included a couple of doors that weren’t on the plans the detectives had pulled from city records. Dozens of uniformed and plainclothes officers swarm the building, arresting everyone they can get their hands on. When an officer comes for Jensen, he puts up a token protest, but allows himself to be hauled out, uncuffed, with the rest of the spectators.

Outside the factory in the humid, salty night air, it takes Jensen a few minutes to find Tahmoh’s face in the crowd. His brother nods at the officer holding Jensen, and the man lets go of his arm, allowing Jensen to disappear. He makes it as far as a darkened corner across the street from the factory, obscuring himself in the shadows as he watches Tom Ellis and half a dozen others being marched towards the waiting squad cars, the entire scene bathed in flashes of red and blue.

It’s all in the hands of the Boston Police now, and Jensen has faith in his brother and the cops who work with him. Ellis won’t be getting out anytime soon. Jensen breathes a sigh of relief and walks away, feeling lighter than he has in years. There won’t be any nightmares for him tonight.

Three blocks away, Jensen climbs into the idling, old truck with a smile on his face.

“It’s done,” he tells Jared as he leans across the seat and takes the kiss that’s waiting for him. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

**EPILOGUE**

Sweat runs into Jensen’s eyes, each drop adding to the burn, and his hair is a mess. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grimaces at the taste of dirt. His back aches, muscles pushed to the limit. There’s sawdust in his beard, mud on his old shoes, and his bare forearms are beginning to turn red from spending hours under the relentless early autumn sun.

None of it matters; this is the best Jensen’s felt in years.

Jared pokes his head out the back door and smiles at the progress Jensen has made on the new deck.

“Tahmoh wants to know if he should pick up burgers and corn on his way home.”

“Sure,” Jensen yells back, “tell him we need more beer, too.”

Jared returns a few minutes later, stepping out on the patio with a bottle of water and a damp towel in his hands. Jensen takes the water and shivers in delighted relief when Jared slings the towel, which has been soaked in cold water, around the back of Jensen’s neck.

“The deck looks good,” Jared says casually, though his eyes are drawn lower to where Jensen’s t-shirt is clinging to his chest.

“I don’t know about good,” Jensen laughs, “but it’s finally starting to _look_ like a deck, so that’s something. You find that article you needed for class?”

Jared mutters something along the lines of, “Oh, yeah,” before leaning closer. The water quenches Jensen’s thirst, but Jared’s obvious distraction at the sight of his sweaty body is giving him other ideas. The kid reaches out and traces his fingers over Jensen’s upper arm, a habit he’s picked up in the days since Jensen’s newest tattoo finally healed, and his response is immediate. A different kind of warmth, unlike the brutal heat of the sun, spreads throughout his body as Jared’s clever fingers outline the five letters of his own name.

Jared tilts his chin up, eyes golden in the afternoon light. The kid is fully aware of the effect he’s having on his boyfriend. “Want to take this inside?”

“I don’t think we have time for that,” Jensen points out, though he can’t resist pulling Jared into a shady spot and kissing him, the sweat and dirt making a mess of Jared’s shirt. As if trying to prove him wrong, Jared melts into the kiss, content to make out in the backyard, and Jensen is grateful for the high fence surrounding their property. 

He’d been worried about how the kid would react to the news of Stephen Amell’s sentencing this morning—the judge handed down 20 years for the murder of Kevin Alejandro—afraid it would bring back bad memories from the investigation and arrest. But the kid was resilient. He’d taken one look at the article before throwing it in the trash and taking over pancake duties from Jensen. With Tom Ellis’ case handed over to federal agents months ago, the ordeal was finally over.

“To be continued,” Jensen whispers against Jared’s lips when he hears Tahmoh’s car pull in.

Jared slips out of his arms with a smile that promises much more later tonight. Jensen watches him go back inside to meet Tahmoh and help him with the food.

There are days when Jensen doesn’t recognize this life, convinced he’ll wake up and find that the rage consumed him, that he’s still being brutalized at the illegal fights with nothing and no one to keep him sane. Then, he’ll see Jared lying beside him, or catch a glimpse of the freshly inked skin on his arm, and remember that he’s okay.

These days, the fire is dormant. Jensen hits the gym with Tahmoh, works even harder, and if the rage does manage to slip through a crack, Jared is there to smother it with a gentle touch.

Turns out, that face is still his lucky charm.

As he heads in to wash up, Jensen sees Tahmoh and Jared laughing in the kitchen, the two people he was willing to risk his life to keep safe. He spares a thought for the family he never knew and all the families who sent him back when his time was up. It was all leading to this moment, this life, this family.

Jensen wouldn’t change a damn thing.

He’s home.

**FIN.**

**Author's Note:**

> This was a story idea that I came up with a long time ago and never got around to writing. When BB season rolled around, I pulled it back out and gave it another go. It morphed from a simple PWP into a 40K+ behemoth in almost no time at all. I’m glad I finally finished it, as it took me to several unexpected places!
> 
> Thank you so much to sweetheartdean for choosing my summary and for coming up with three AMAZING pieces of art to illustrate the fic! You understood what I wanted so well, let me spam you with pictures of Jensen’s ridiculously amazing facial hair, and let me convince you that Tahmoh Penikett is absolutely WONDERFUL. I’m so happy we got to work together on this, and your art so amazing, I can only hope the story lives up to your work.
> 
> Many, MANY hugs to dugindeep who kept me going throughout this entire process, even though we THOUGHT we could keep our Big Bangs under 25K for once. Needless to say we failed, but not miserably ♥ ♥ ♥ I never would have finished this story without your encouragement, and I truly appreciate your work as a beta for making this story the best it could be. You are the best and I love you!
> 
> Thank you to wendy for running this awesome bang year after year!


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